


Friendly Fire

by Sukuangtou



Category: TMNT (2007), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2003), Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Age Difference, Angst, Blood, Death, Discussions on guns and gun violence, Discussions on morals and killing, Drama, Experimentation, Family, Feels, Gen, Guns, Hurt/Comfort, Killing, Lots of talk about medical stuff, Needles and so on, Swearing, violance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2018-11-12 19:58:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 26,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11169012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sukuangtou/pseuds/Sukuangtou
Summary: AU where Michelangelo, or 'Eight', was brought up by Bishop. Trained to kill, he knows very little else. Yet when a seed of doubt is planted, his whole world falls in around him.That seed of doubt having been planted by some very familiar looking faces.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The calm before the storm...

“Again.”

Ignoring his aching muscles, Eight preformed the move for the umpteenth time. Behind him, all-seeing eyes watched him closely. The figure stepped forward and nudged his feet further apart with a cane.

“Your stance is off, and you need more power behind the kick.”

“Yes Sir.”

“Again.”

This was simply how they trained, how it had always been. He didn’t need long explanations on why things were performed a certain way, just simple instructions and demonstrations. The silence might be stifling to others, overbearing, but having been taught like this his entire life, he found it almost soothing. The quiet kept his thoughts calm and the rhythm allowed him to relax, even the repetitive nature of the session let him fall into muscle memory, freeing his mind to concentrate elsewhere. 

Like the gun that was pointing his direction from the shadows. 

Before the bullet was even an inch out of the pistol he had spun around and prepared to block, letting it rickashay off his dagger with a twang and fall uselessly to the floor.

“Excellent Eight.” Bishop walked over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder, “You have done well. We shall end training here for today.”

Eight moved to bow.

“Thank you Sir.”

They both walked towards the exit of the training room, Eight a couple of steps behind Bishop. An agent moved away from the wall as they left, picking up the fallen bullet.

“I believe Stockman wants you,” Bishop said, pulling out his phone and setting up a call, “I expect you to go to him, now.”

“Yes Sir.” With a nod they both went their separate ways, Bishop probably going to take a look at the latest development in Project Revival. Eight had no need to go _there_ today, if he could help it. Luckily for him, Stockman’s lab was the opposite end of the base (which, in all fairness, was probably a stupid idea. But Eight kept that to himself), taking him through the so-called ‘storage area’, where the important-enough-to-be-preserved creatures were housed. 

Not all of them were aliens (though many were), but creatures which had been found alive and in some cases breeding on earth. Many had come from the oceans, the only place where normal humans were not stupid enough to go poking around, and those who did often didn’t come back to tell the tale. How a giant and out of control alligator had come to live under New York for several years unnoticed, however, Eight had no idea, especially judging by how loud it could scream.

One of the aliens bobbed against the glass of the tank as he walked by, and Eight moved quickly on. 

“Ahh Eight,” Stockman greeted as the lab door swished open, “My greatest achievement.”

Oh boy, so they were using needles today then.

“Bishop’s, actually.” He said, eyeing up the clear plastic bags which were probably going to be filled with blood very soon. Stockman made an annoyed ‘tch’ sound, and turned his back to him, picking up various items from the table. 

“Yes, yes, we all know you are _oh so_ loyal,” Shaking his hologram head, he moved over to the padded dentist-style chair, “Now sit here like a good little turtle and let me take your blood.”

“Right away Mr Dracula sir.”

Stockman gave him an unreadable look as he climbed up. Eight blinked at him.

“You know, Dra-”

“I am aware of the reference,” He produced a needle, attaching it to the tube of the bag with more care than you would expect from robotic fingers, “What I don’t understand is how _you_ of all things came about it. I was under the impression Bishop controlled your environment. Of course, if he sees fit to stain my greatest work, then I suppose who am I to complain?”

“Jeez, I just snuck into the worker’s break room,” His breath hitched as the needle was pressed into the crook of his arm and he lay back against the seat, “You think too much.” Stockman wrinkled his nose.

“You think too little. I told Bishop that as soon as you were out you should be given mind puzzles, but no, he had to-” Eight zoned out, instead focusing on the floating chinchilla in the tube the other side of the room. Huh. 

Then light blasted into his skull.

“Woah, warning next time.”

“I did warn you, turtle.” Stockman hummed lightly as he studied Eight’s eyes, and then willed the light back into his robotic hand. “Where’s that chart?” He said to himself, scanning the room before walking away. They were quiet for a while. 

“So…How did Twenty-Fo-”

“Twenty-Four died as soon as the tank was drained.” Stockman interrupted, not looking up from the chart, “The post-mortem is this afternoon.”

“Nice to know.”

“You asked.”

Returning to his side, Stockman inspected the bag of blood before nodding and handing him a bud of cotton wool. Once the needle was removed Eight placed the wool over the area and waited, sitting up. Stockman took the blood over to another area of the lab where numerous glass test tubes were waiting.

“So I guess Bishop will be there the rest of the day.”

“You tell me, you’re his little pet, after all.”

Standing, Eight picked up the plaster from the lab table, placing it over the puncture wound. He crossed his arms.

“We done then?”

“For now.”

“Welp, see you later.” Spinning on his heels Eight strode out the room, leaving Stockman to the quiet of his lab.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so, I began writing this story around Christmas 2016. As of the moment I'm up to chapter 12. I'll try and update quickly, but please don't expect this to be a daily (or even weekly) thing, as I'll only update when I feel there's a big enough buffer zone between chapters being published and those being written. 
> 
> On a lighter note, welcome to this feels-fest of an AU! I'll try an answer any comments!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go horribly wrong.

It was one of those nights that frustrated Eight beyond belief. The Foot were attacking, trying to take back Stockman and probably having a nice little nosey around while they were at it. Security was multiplied and patrolling every corridor, all exists had armed guards and all experiments were on lockdown. And, as usual, Bishop told him nothing. 

“Please?”

“No.” 

“But I could be of some use!” Half-walking, half-running behind Bishop, he tried to keep the begging out of his voice.

“You’re too valuable.” Was Bishop’s annoyed reply, and immediately Eight fell back a few paces to show his respect, but he didn’t let up.

“If I’m too valuable, then what am I ever meant to do? Sit and have my blood drained all day?” Bishop seemed to hesitate for a second. It was a barely noticeable second, and only someone who had known him for years would see it, but it was there.

“One day,” Bishop quickly recovered, “You shall lead the special operations team. You shall be unstoppable, and will be the greatest thing I have ever achieved.” In a flash he had turned around, nearly causing Eight to bump into him, “But not yet. You are too inexperienced and too willing to listen to others.” His eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses and he leant down so they were on the same level, “So do not push me Eight, I have no time for you right now.” With a long sigh Eight nodded and bowed.

“Yes Sir.” 

A hand rested on his shoulder.

“One day, I promise.”

With that Bishop was gone, leaving Eight alone in the corridor. Well, as alone as one could get with armed soldiers. Huffing, he turned back the way he came. At the very least he could get some training in while everyone was occupied. While it was one thing training with Bishop, training alone often left him open to certain…Remarks by the other agents. Eight didn’t let those things get to him (honestly) but it was distracting nonetheless. Some alone time in the gym would be nice. 

He still made doubly sure the room was empty before relaxing into a sequence of moves and steps, picking up a nice rhythm. After a while, he incorporated one of his twin pistols, leaving the other in the holster on his belt. While he didn’t actually fire the gun, he practiced the different moves Bishop had shown him, quietly teaching himself positions and ways to move with only one free hand. 

When Eight was small, Bishop had once described his fighting style as “dancing to a silent tune”, and he had said it with enough pride that Eight had been trying to replicate himself ever since. In a funny way, by bringing it up Bishop had made Eight self-conscious to the point that he was no longer able to fight in that style naturally. As soon as it had been said, he had felt his muscles tense, his mind worry, and his limbs losing the level of control he had before. Upon noticing this, Bishop hardly ever commented like that again, and was probably why they now trained in near silence. Eight could deal with the silence.

“You know,” Eight said after half an hour, “You’re not as invisible as you think.”

Four shadows shifted from their spot on the pipes along the ceiling, slinking down the wall and stepping into the light. Keeping his gun in hand, Eight faced them, crossing his arms.

“The Foot, huh?” Annoyingly, they were closer to the door than he was, “Nice hats.” 

In an instant the four were charging, swords and daggers drawn. Eight met them halfway, knocking one off their feet while shooting into the shoulder of another. The ninja cried out as hot blood splattered everywhere, falling back as a third leapt at him, aiming for his left arm. Blocking the sword with the barrel of his gun (thank you alien metal!), Eight grabbed the guy’s arm, using the momentum from the leap to send him flying across the room, knocking down the fourth ninja in the process. The first one was on their feet again, flinging throwing stars his way, which was a stupid move as not only could Eight shoot them out the air blindfolded, he could also bounce them off his bullets, sending them reeling back towards the guy. His screams hit the air as they struck him across the face.

“You…” The second guy panted from the floor, holding his injured shoulder, “You fight without honour.”

“Tch,” Strolling over, Eight placed the barrel against the guy’s forehead, “Who said anything about honour?”

He pulled the trigger and ended it. 

“Brother!” The fourth shouted, springing to his feet. For a moment he breathed, ragged and distraught, before picking up the first’s swords. “I shall end you turtle!”

“Huh,” They engaged in fight, Eight easily dodging the anger-fuelled attacks, “You’re one of the first people to get that right, most people say tortoise. Or frog, which I don’t really get because, you know, the whole shell thing?”

“You mock me,” The ninja growled, “Be ready to breathe your last.”

“Eight!”

Apparently Bishop had finally decided to join them, how nice.

“Sorry Sir, they came to me!”

The Foot ninja and Eight stepped back from each other for a moment, both reassessing the scene. Realising he was the only one standing, the guy glanced between Eight and the doorway, where Bishop and a group of armed soldiers stood. Bishop smiled.

“All other Foot have been detained or slain. You are the last. I suggest you surrender, or you will fall to the same fate as your comrades.”

The swords tumbled to the ground in a clatter, and the ninja stared down at the second guy, a pool of thick blood circling his head. 

“Brother…Forgive me…”

With that he held his hands in the air, his eyes to the ground. Three soldiers moved forward and Eight stood down, tucking his gun back into its holster. The ninja turned slightly. 

Eight’s eyes widened in horror. 

Underneath his loose clothing was a bulky, flashing device.

“Sir! He’s got a-”

Everything exploded into white noise. Dust, rubble and smoke flew out in every direction. Eight was thrown not only into the wall but through it, before crashing to the crumbling ground. The whole world shuddered and, with a tremendous groan, Eight plummeted through the collapsing floor, and then another, and then another. Then the floors began giving way before he could even hit them, leaving him simply tumbling down through thin air. Spinning chunks of brick and glass joined him, having a domino effect on the levels below, causing them to crumple under the weight of falling debris. There was a weird whistling noise, and as he fell Eight frowned, trying to make sense of it but his mind too hazy to focus.

Smacking into a wall of ice, his whole body jolted in shock, and he opened his mouth to gasp. Gritty water flooded his mouth, causing him to choke and gag. Water, he was in water. He needed to get to air, which way was air?  
Strong currents whisked and churned him along, tossing him against smooth sides of tunnels and periodically throwing him up into the air. The foul tasting liquid spoiled his mouth and in desperation, he tried to swim in the direction he hoped was upwards, but everything was so fuzzy, so dark, that he could hardly move. 

He needed to do something…He needed to…Needed to…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to upload a new chapter every time I write a new chapter. So today I finished chapter 12, so I'm uploading this. When I finish chapter 13, you'll get chapter 3.
> 
> So, what do you guys think is going to happen to Eight? Would love to hear your thoughts!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for Eight's life to be turned upside-down!

Wet…Cold…Dark…Dead?

No, he couldn’t be dead.

But he felt so weightless, so…Free. This had to death, surely it was death? 

Maybe it was one of Bishop’s tests. Maybe he was in a suspension tank. Maybe something had gone wrong and needed fixing.

Bishop. Where was he? Did he fall? Was he injured? Was he safe? If Bishop died, what happened to him? No one else had interest in Project R, he would be worthless. Would he be terminated, like all the others? 

“What the…Get over…”

“I don’t…”

Voices, but not Bishops. Where they soldiers? Agents? Hell, they might be Foot, in which case he was done for. They wouldn’t take kindly to someone who had killed many of their own.

If only he could open his damn eyes. 

“How did…Who…”

“They…Injured…I need…”

Words warped around him, as if managing to dodge around Eight and only giving him glimpses of their contents. He shivered as arms pulled him out of the wet. He tried to struggle, but his body simply refused to cooperate. 

“Guns…Trained…Dangerous…”

“One of us…”

The voices were beginning to rise, getting angry and demanding. Could they hurry it up a little? He was freezing here.

“Let…Those goons…Here.” Something warm was slipped over his shoulders, “Winter…Coldblooded…” The person began to rub at his arms, and a series of uncomfortable bouts of pins and needles sprung up. Great. 

The shouting got louder, and with a long sigh the third stopped rubbing his arms and moved away, now apparently joining the row. 

Inwardly groaning, Eight decided it would just be better to sleep this out. He let himself succumb to the calling darkness. 

……

Things got _really_ weird after that. Apparently unable to return to full consciousness, Eight was left with twisted visions of little green men and a furry beast. There were strange multi-coloured stripes across their eyes which would dart about in front of his face from time to time.

For whatever reason, it was also boiling. The other… Creatures seemed unaffected by it, but it annoyed Eight to no end. He found himself constantly wiggling and shifting, trying to escape the insufferable heat, only to have hands hold him down and blankets pulled over him. When he had twisted more in protest, a paw rested down on his head, and a heavy weight pushed him down back into the numbing black. 

Then, _finally_ , Eight managed to open his eyes, and actually see for the first time in who knew how long. Blinking, a frown settled across his brow as he peered around the room. It was some kind of run-down lab, filled with handmade equipment and scrap metal. Chipped glass test tubes scattered a desk opposite him, papers with scribbled calculations piled high. In the corner at a desk, a computer was busy analysing something, beeping and whirring away quietly. 

Unless Stockman liked a rustic aesthetic, this was not his lab.

Stiffly sitting and rubbing his pounding head, Eight noticed that he was alone. The door, old and wooden and battered, was open askew and voices could be heard the other side. Instantly he was alert, or as alert he could be at least. He needed to assess the situation, and he really did not like the idea of being cornered inside the room. There was no need to look to know that he no longer had his belt, and thus his guns. He could fight disarmed just fine, but who did so willingly? Plus he could feel his body was weak and tired, not ideal for a fight. 

Slipping down from the bed, a wave as nausea floated over him, forcing Eight to steady himself. He allowed himself a moment to take some deep breaths. He didn’t need this now. 

Once certain he could move without upchucking, he staggered over to the table, leaning on it as he gazed over the room, just in case his guns were here. They weren’t. 

“Raphael!” A voice shouted, making Eight jump. 

“You ain’t listening to me!”

“Neither are you!”

Metal clashing against metal rang out, followed by near-silent footsteps towards the door. Oh hell.

Eight backed up a bit, giving himself some room if he needed it. The door opened and-

The two stared at each other. 

Eight blinked.

The other blinked.

“What…?” 

……

Donatello stared at the turtle. It stared back. There was a long, still pause. 

“Um…” He tried, eyeing up the other as they swayed against the lab table, “Hi?” A look of utter confusion crossed the turtle’s features, and he tried to stand taller, though Don could see he was still putting the majority of his weight against the furniture.

“I…What?”

Donatello dared to move a little closer, ignoring the sound of glass smashing and Splinter calling for silence in the background. The other turtle noticed it too, a frown falling across his features. He was younger than them, by a couple of years by the looks of it, and stood short enough that Don had to look down to make eye contact.

“Yeah, we’re both turtles.” The other moved back shakily, and Don stopped his advance, holding up his hands. “I’m not going to hurt you.” 

“How…” Panic was setting into the other turtle, his breathing getting deeper and ragged as he stared, “What…What number are you?”

“Number? I don’t-” Don darted forward as the turtle tumbled to his knees, his body unnaturally warm in his arms. The turtle struggled, trying to bat his hands away.

“You can’t be… No, no you must be…”

“I don’t understand what you are talking about. Please, you are si-”

“What _number_ are you?” His voice was scratchy, but he still managed to shout. Don flinched.

“Number? I… We’re twenty, if that’s what you-”

“Twenty!” 

Footsteps were heading their way, rushing across the lair.

“You _can’t_ be Twenty! Twenty drowned in their own suspension fluid!” The turtle was shaking, still trying to wriggle free as Don watched him in bewilderment. “He wouldn’t keep something like that! I know he wouldn’t!”

“Donatello?” Splinter appeared over his shoulder, his calming energy filling the room. “Please let me try.”

“Hai Sensei.” Releasing the flailing turtle, Don backed away, joining his brothers in the doorway, standing directly between them to halt any unwelcome bickering that would make the situation worse. Splinter knelt in front of the turtle who was now backed up against the wall and gaping at them.

“There’s _three!_ ” He made a sobbing sound, putting his head in his hands, “That’s it! Shit, he’s gonna…I’m gonna…”

“Please,” Placing a hand on their shoulder, Splinter tried to calm them, “You are unwell and are not thinking clearly. Please just breathe.” The turtle seemed to notice him for the first time, jumping a little at the contact. He stared for a concerning amount of time, confused and lost, before finally seeming to snap back into reality.

“A rat?”

“Y-Yes, I am a rat.”

“You are a giant, mutated, humanoid rat.”

“I am.”

Silence.

“Cool.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finishing chapter 13 today, so here's chapter 3! Also, say goodbye to the cheeky, kinda content Eight we've seen the last two chapters, now that everything has gone wrong he's going to become very confused and defensive. 
> 
> Oh the drama!
> 
> I'd love to see what you guys think of this, so please comment and let me know!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eight has a revelation, and then finds out a confusing piece of info

The world snapped back into focus, and Eight was suddenly aware that all eyes were on him. In fact, they had been there a while. Long enough to watch his little…Breakdown. 

Haha, great. 

Rubbing at his face with the heel of his hand, he tried to sit up more against the wall. The rat stopped him.

“You still have a temperature, please do not strain yourself.”

“I have a temperature?” He felt his own forehead, “Huh.”

“Our bodies are cold-blooded,” One of the turtles, the purple one, said, “Fevers can be pretty serious. You probably knew that though.” His voice got quieter as he spoke, losing confidence in what he was saying. He shuffled his feet about, fiddling with his hands.

“I didn’t, actually,” Stockman might have said something once, when he was, what, four? “I’ve never been sick before…”

“What, never?” Purple sounded shocked, “Not even a cold?”

“No?” 

All three turtles shared an odd look.

“How?” Another, a turtle in blue, asked. Eight shrugged, darting his gaze elsewhere. 

“Everyone at the base has to be cleared before coming into contact with me.”

“Base?” Blue shifted, and it didn’t go unnoticed by Eight the way his hands twitched dangerously for their weapons. Eight narrowed his eyes.

“That is enough,” The rat stood, “Apologies; we do not know your name.”

“Oh, it’s Eight.”

“Eight…” Purple muttered, crossing his arms.

“Eight is still sick and needs rest, Leonardo, Raphael come with me. Donatello, please see to our guest.”

“Hai Sensei.” Was the chorused reply.

The rat and two turtles (Leonardo and Raphael, though which was which Eight did not know) left the room, and ‘Donatello’ walked over, offering a hand.

“You ok?”

“Yeah…” Taking it, Eight staggered to his feet, Donatello steadying him, “Sorry, I was kinda confused. I… So you’re twenty?” The other gave him a weary look.

“In age, yes.” He guided Eight over to the bed, “But not in name, which I’m assuming is what you meant. Please sit on the bed.”

“Yes, it was…” He fidgeted about of the mattress, swinging his feet nervously as Donatello searched through some draws. They were quiet for a while. Eventually, after a good look around the room, Donatello found a stethoscope behind his computer monitor and walked over.

“I have to admit, I thought we were the only mutant turtles in existence,” He placed the ring against Eight’s chest, “It was a surprise finding you.” Eight hummed, letting Donatello hear whatever he was listening for. 

They were twenty, four years older than him. 

His eyes widened.

“Shit, you’re twenty?” 

“Don’t let anyone else hear you using that language,” Donatello placed the stethoscope on the table, watching him, “But yes, we have established that we are twenty.”

“If you’re twenty that must mean… Holy shit!”

“Eight, please stop-”

“You’re the _original_ DNA!”

Donatello stared at him.

“Original DNA?” He moved over to the bed cautiously “What do you mean?”

“When you were little, did one of you get hurt? Like, really hurt? Like a tunnel covered in blood hurt?” Donatello swallowed, and simply nodded. “Yeah, some agents found it and brought it back to the base. They’ve been attempting to recreate the creature it came from ever since.”

“And…” Donatello said slowly, quieter than before, brown eyes looking into baby blue, “You’re the result of that?”

“I’m the eighth attempt.” The older turtle turned away for a moment, running a hand over his face as he processed this new information. 

“Earlier, you said about Twenty, as in a name-”

“I’m the only one,” Eight interrupted, glancing down as Donatello spun around to face him, “It took a while to perfect making me, you know? And the ones before me I’ve only seen pictures of, but they were either terminated or died. And then the Foot attacked after I was created, and the sample got contaminated beyond use, so they only have me for reference.” He frowned as he kicked his feet back and forth, “And the ones made using my DNA are… They either grow lopsided, or develop wrong, or look _exactly_ like me but the second they come out of the tube they’re either attacking or dying.” He shivered, “I avoid going near unless I have too.”

“Eight-”

“I shouldn’t be telling you any of this, it’s classified.” He gave a small grin, “So keep quiet and I won’t have to use my guns. Actually, where are my guns?”

“I think Master Splinter has them.” Donatello answered, watching Eight closely, “Once you’re better, he’ll give them to you.” 

“Oh.” He slid down off the bed, “In all honesty? I’d rather just get them now and leave. Bishop is gonna be-”

“Bishop?” Donatello was suddenly on him, holding him by the shoulders Eight froze. “You’re with _Bishop_?”

“Is that a problem?” Donatello shot him an exasperated look.

“Of course it is! He’s kidnapped Master Splinter three times, and has tried to destroy all of us well over ten times, and hurt April last year! And Leatherhead’s missing, which could mean anything.” He paused and took a deep breath, taking in Eight’s expression, “You can’t go back to him, he’ll kill you.”

“No…” He pushed Donatello’s hands away, “No, you’re wrong, that can’t be Bishop, he would have told me. Project R wouldn’t still be going if he knew about you.” He backed up, sliding closer to the door, ignoring the sheer amount of _pity_ that crossed Donatello’s face. “I’m gonna go get my guns and leave, Ok?” He darted out the door.

They were lying, Bishop wouldn’t do that to him. He couldn’t.

“Eight, wait!”

The rat, ‘Master Splinter’, was standing in the middle of the room; the two other turtles knelt in front of him, mid-way through a lecture. 

“Excuse me,” He crossed the room quickly, the back of his mind noting the pool in the centre of the room, and the large vehicle floating quietly in the water. “Donatello says you have my guns?” Master Splinter nodded, glancing over to a room offside and leaning on his cane. 

“I do, however-”

“Please, I’d like to have them.” He was given a raised eyebrow at the interruption, but Eight ignored it. “I really need to go but I can’t leave without them.” 

Donatello materialised out of thin air behind his shoulder, placing a hand on his arm.

“Eight, listen to me.” He was shaken off.

“I want to go home; please can I have my guns.” Wise old eyes examined him, and a hand stroked at his beard.

“My sons, we cannot deny Eight his wish to go home, even if we do believe it best for him to stay and recover.” That was definitely a jab, telling him he was too sick to leave. Eight felt his hands clench. He was not a baby, he was sixteen.

“Sensei, his home is with _Bishop_.” Donatello argued, and Eight glared at him. Concern flooded the rat’s face.

“You are with-”

“Yes! And that’s my home, and I’m going to go back, so I want my guns.” He growled, his stomach twisting at the looks he received – Shock, horror, disgust. “Please.”

“Hey!” One of the other turtles, Red, moved into his face, his body filled with a tenseness that he was trying to hide. “Don’t talk to our-”

“I thank you for your kindness,” Eight narrowed the gap between their faces, even though Red was far taller than him, “But I want to leave.” Red made a low sound; clearly he was pressing some buttons. Eight refused to let his hands shake.

“Raphael-” Master Splinter tried.

“Yeah? And how trigger happy are you going to be with those guns?” Raphael pushed his face closer still, “I saw the blood on them, and it certainly wasn’t yours.”

A shiver sparked up his back, but Eight did not show it. Bishop had taught him years ago how to hide his emotions in battle.

“Raphael!” The blue turtle, which must be Leonardo, pushed them apart, “Stop it! Look,” He faced Eight, “If you’re really so close to Bishop, how do we know that you won’t lead him right back here?” Eight crossed his arms.

“Well _apparently_ he already knows about you, so what difference does it make?”

“But he doesn’t know where we live,” Donatello joined it, “Who’s to say you won’t lead him here?”

Eight had no answer for that.

Because Bishop was Eight’s master, and he would be loyal until the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Eight, his life really is becoming more and more confusing for him (*Cough*And I ain't gonna get better*Cough*)
> 
> Thank you to people who have been commenting so far, I'm really happy that people are interested in this story!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a breakout, a confrontation, and a promise is made.

They had refused to let him leave, ganging up on him and sticking him back in the lab, even going as far as to lock the door. Eight refused to talk to Donatello when he came in with dinner, not making eye contact or touching the food, which looked to be some kind of stew. 

Eight could snap his neck in a heartbeat. It would be easy. He could grab him while he was taking his temperature, use him as leverage against the others to get his weapons, and then end them all. This is what he was trained for, what Bishop watched him do day after day in training, something akin to pride hidden behind those sunglasses. Hell, this is what he was _created_ for, his entire purpose in the world. 

But he wouldn’t. He was sure he would have died in the sewer if it was not for them. They had taken him in, and nursed him back to health. Even now they were still trying to care for him, even if he didn’t want it. A horrible sense of debt now weighed over Eight, looming over his back, pressing on his shoulders. 

In return for saving his life, he would spare theirs. 

He fiddled with a stray piece of paper to distract himself, folding it into a crane. One of the nicer agents had taught him that when he was a kid.

Eventually the ‘lair’ fell quiet and glancing at the clock on the wall told him it was midnight. Slipping off the mattress he silently moved over to the door. Nothing, not a sound. He waited half an hour, hovering by the lock of the door. Eight was lucky, his fever had died a few hours after the confrontation and apart from some lingering weariness, he was feeling much better than before. Whatever drugs Donatello had given him had clearly worked, but he hoped to god they didn’t mess with his bloodwork. It was too valuable.

What would Bishop do if it-

Shaking his head clear of the worried little voice, he took the tweezers he had swiped earlier from one of the drawers and slowly began to pick the lock. Bishop had made him practice this thousands of times, watching over his shoulder and timing him. 

_Click._

Ha, new record. 

He reached for the handle and pulled open the door a crack, peering out and listening. 

“Knew you would do that.” 

Standing, Eight narrowed his eyes at Raphael, who stood in the dark, a few meters away from the door. He had a relaxed stance, but that tension from before still lingered. 

“You’re lucky, April called, said there was some burglar in her shop. Don and Leo went to investigate.” Raphael cracked his knuckles. “It’s just you and me.”

“In that case, move out of my way,” Eight strode forward, heading straight for Master Splinter’s room (the rat had given it away earlier, when he first inquired about his weapons), “I am getting my guns and leaving.”

Raphael stuck an arm out, stopping him.

“I don’t think so.”

Eight took a long, deep breath.

“You know,” He said lowly, “Earlier I reasoned that because you saved my life, I would spare yours.” He paused, turning to Raphael, “But I don’t take kindly to those who stand in my way.”

He moved, and the older turtle had no time to even blink as Eight seized his arm and sent him flying across the room, smacking into the wall with a loud crunch and tumbling to the ground. The weight over his shoulders deepened, but Eight mentally forced it away.

“I’d stay down, if I were you.”

_Please._

Groaning, Raphael struggled to his hands and knees, spitting what looked like blood.

“Like shell.” Climbing to his feet, Raphael reached for his sai. 

The face he made when he realised one was missing was priceless, but the expression when he noticed Eight casually spinning the weapon in his hand was _to die_ for.

“You know, the leatherwork on this could really do with some maintenance.”

“Why you-!”

Raphael charged, reminding Eight somewhat of a hippo, all snorts and grunts and anger. There was no direction or brains there at all. He waited until the last minute, watching the turtle with dispassion until he was a foot away and ready to strike, before suddenly ducking down and kicking Raphael directly in his back, pushing him into the floor. He kept his foot on his shell, holding him there and rendering the turtle useless.

“You..! I’m gonna-” The wooden end of the sai came down, and Raphael fell still. Eight stood back.

“Well?”

“I do not appreciate my sons being hurt,” The rat said, appearing from the shadows.

“He’s obviously been brewing on that all day,” Eight shrugged, glancing down at the fallen turtle, “That was sloppy as hell. I hardly had to do anything.” The rat crossed the room, kneeling by his ‘son’ and feeling the bump on the head. 

“It is true that Raphael struggles to contain his anger, I will not deny that.” He stood, “Tell me, are you going to attack me too?”

“Are you going to stand in my way?”

The rat stared at him, studying his eyes and probably looking into his soul. He mentally stuck up a finger.

“You lack honour.”

“There’s no point to honour.” Eight watched the sai spin slowly around his fingers, “It gets in the way of the fight, and holds you back. Honour makes you weak.” He stopped and narrowed his eyes at the rodent, “I cannot afford to be weak.”

“Holding your honour in the heat of battle is the greatest strength.” The rat moved closer, holding out a hand as if to touch him, but stopping and letting it fall away. A dismayed look crossed his face. “But I have a feeling Bishop never told you that.”

“Are you going to fight me or not?”

“You are asking me to put my life before my family to keep them safe. You leave me no choice.” There was a pause, “But earlier you said you were going to spare us, and when my son was down, you did. There was no fatal blow.” Eight flinched, deliberately keeping his gaze from the rat or downed turtle. “There is something in you; I can see it behind all the false confidence, all those walls. You kept your word, despite the situation.”

“Maybe I _am_ weak, ever thought of that?” His voice was softer, the two watching each other in the dark. This time, the rat did place a hand on him.

“Doing the right thing is never weak.”

“Pff,” Eight threw the sai in the air, catching it perfectly, “Look, just get to your point already.”

“What I’m saying is, if I was to give you the guns and open the door, with the promise that you would keep our location secret,” He tilted his head, trying to make eye contact, “I trust you would keep it.”

Eight swallowed, glancing at him.

“You would?”

“I can already see you accepting the offer, even if you don’t show it.”

“Well then,” Slowly he held out the sai for the rat to take, “I guess I have no other choice.”

……

After three hours of creeping about in the shadows of New York’s sewers, Eight changed tactic and made himself as obvious as possible. Now he was far enough from the ‘Hamato’ lair, he needed to trigger Bishop’s cameras so he would be spotted and picked up. 

Bishop.

Does Bishop really know about those turtles? It made no sense. If he did, then why was Project R still going? If its original purpose was to recreate the creature and build an army strong enough and smart enough to thwart alien invasion, then why weren’t they using the Hamato’s DNA? His was faulty in some way; it kept creating weird monsters, so why not use theirs? You could not build an army out of uncontrollable beasts. 

But on the other hand…

A terrible, gut-wrenching realisation passed through Eight’s mind, and his whole body froze.

If they had the correct DNA, what would happen to him? He was only valuable because he provided the DNA Bishop wanted. If there was a better, known-to-work version available, what was the point of him? He was too weak to ever lead the EPF with Bishop, and there were agents that he had yet to beat in spar. And right now he was already proving that his loyalty was… Hindered. Eight shivered.

The more he thought on it, the more disposable he became.

Something made a noise behind him, and in an instant Eight had spun around, gun ready.

“Eight,” A familiar voice said, “You’re alive.”

Bishop appeared out of the dark, striding over.

“It’s so good to see you.”

Eight silently bowed to his master.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus the seed of doubt is planted. May the angst begin, muhahaha! 
> 
> On a side note, Uni is finishing for the summer, and in the next few days I shall be going home. This will likely mean that the time I have to write will be reduced. But don't worry, I have every intention of completing this story. So even if I'm not as fast to update, please stick with me.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eight becomes very confused

“The explosion destroyed most of the south side,” Bishop explained as they walked through crowded halls. People were rushing about everywhere, carrying boxes of equipment and moving experiments. A number of builders were milling around, assessing the structure of the base. “We’re in the process of moving all irreplaceable specimens to the Base under the river.” They passed an alligator being pushed along in a tank, Bishop watching silently with an unreadable expression.

“Any idea what the Foot wanted?”

“Probably the usual, Stockman has already been moved.” They entered one of the labs, and Eight flinched at the sight of a green, shelled creature floating within a long tube. They had wasted no time working on Twenty-Five, then. “If they were trying to hack into our mainframe then our systems would have been activated and all files automatically wiped. As they are all intact, it is safe to assume our friends didn’t make it that far.”

Bishop strolled over to the scientist plotting numbers into a computer, leaning over her shoulder and humming. 

“Increase the dose.”

“Y-Yes, Sir.” Her fingers flew over the keyboard and a dark liquid poured into the numerous tubes attached to Twenty-Five. The creature shuddered as it entered their body. Eight swallowed, finding the floor of great interest all of a sudden. 

“Sir…Can I ask you a question?” 

He needed to know. He _trusted_ Bishop, he was Eight’s master and teacher. Bishop had cared for him his entire life, even before when Eight was the one floating in a tank. He glanced at Twenty-Five, a heavy feeling in his chest. There had been so many in those tanks now, with so little to show for it. What was the point? You created mutated beasts only to destroy them. Nothing was achieved. It was so clear that this wasn’t working, that his DNA was wrong. 

“Fire away.” Bishop peered over his shoulder, mildly curious. Eight didn’t meet his eyes.

“Just… What do you think happened to the thing the original DNA came from?” A frown spread across Bishop’s face, and he turned to fully face Eight, hands tight at his side. “I’m j-just wondering, ‘cause my DNA isn’t really working… But the creature’s did, and I mean we never found it,” He ignored the voice in the back of his mind reminding him that Bishop had, on several occasions. “If it’s still out there, why not focus on finding that instead?”

Bishop studied him, eyes narrow behind the sunglasses. 

“Tell me, Eight, what happened on your little trip in the sewers?” Eight blinked as Bishop strode right up to him, resisting the urge to fiddle nervously with his hands.

“I was knocked out for a while; I think I got sick…” Bishop stood stock still; Eight couldn’t even see him breathing. Oh hell, lying to Bishop felt wrong, why was he doing this? A small feeling of regret began to bubble somewhere within him. “I kinda collapsed somewhere, I think, until I eventually got better. Then I wandered around,” He dared to look up, “I don’t really know the sewers that well. So-”

Bishop placed a firm hand on Eight’s shoulder.

“Everything you’re thinking has already passed through my mind years ago. We tried looking for the creature; right after the sample first got contaminated. We never found it.” The Bishop _smiled_ an honest to god smile. Eight had maybe seen about three in his life, one at his first kill. He refused to gape at it. “There is no living sample, except you. We had a heart attack when you vanished; we need you if this project is going to work.”

“B-But my DNA is faulty-”

“It is all we’ve got.” Bishop interrupted, “We count on you. Now, go and get ready to leave, you’re being moved to the other base.”

Eight nodded, and gave a small bow.

“Yes Sir.”

……

Eight was curled up on a bench, arms under his legs and head resting on his knees. He was in the back of a truck which was disguised as a supermarket lorry, being transported between bases. Tanks were lined up in front of him, the aliens bobbing about from the bumpiness of the road. In the front, two soldiers dressed as civilians listened to the radio and complained about New York traffic. 

Eight ignored all of it.

_“There is no living sample, except you.”_

Bishop had lied, directly into his face. His master, his teacher, his… Bishop had told him exactly what he would have wanted to hear a week ago, and a week ago Eight would have eaten it right up and not given it a second thought. Right now, he would be excited at seeing another base, practically buzzing. Maybe he would be trying to peek at the outside world, something he had only seen a handful of times in his life. Instead, he buried his head into his legs, blocking it all out.

Bishop had _lied_.

When Eight had lied to him, about what happened in the sewers, he had felt awful, dirty, he had wanted nothing more than to tell the truth. He had wanted to spill everything that happened, all the arguing, the panicking, the confusion. But the rat had trusted him, and for some fucking reason Eight could not bring himself to throw it back in his face. Maybe it was the thought of the disappointed look he would receive if he did, which was stupid because Eight wouldn’t be seeing that face again anytime soon, if ever. But Eight hated disappointing people, even if his own DNA did so every single week.

God, what was he meant to think about this? He was so loyal to Bishop. The man had raised him, had kept the soldiers in line with their teasing. Eight believed every word that left the man’s mouth, and would fling himself into the heat of battle if Bishop had told him to do so. 

Yet Bishop had lied. Bishop had decided not to trust Eight, to keep things from him. Why? What was he trying to stop, or prevent? Maybe even protect?

Eight felt like his head was going to explode, overfilled with worries and fears and uncertainty. He curled up tighter, trying to breathe.

What else had Bishop lied about? What other little mistruths had Eight accepted over the years, over his lifetime? Hell, what was even the point of Project R? It was so useless, so unnecessary, they were wasting tons of money every month by just constantly creating new creatures to die or be killed. And Bishop said he wanted an army of highly trained, highly intelligent soldiers, why? Why did he need an army? And surely there was a better way of making it? 

Shit, why was Eight only now realising all of this? Had he been so gullible before?

Ugh, why did he have to go into that stupid training room? He should have gone to bed, and stayed there. He should never have fought those stupid ninjas. He should have noticed the bomb under the guy’s clothes. 

Why did those stupid, stupid turtles find him?

“Hey, we’re here.” A gruff voice broke in, and Eight lifted his heavy head to blink at him, before turning his gaze out the open back. Nodding silently at the guy Eight grabbed his duffle bag. They were in some kind of tunnel with vans and lorries parked along the tarmac road. Workers scurried about everywhere, unloading whatever had been packed off here. Aliens, monsters, and even robots were herded and wheeled away. Armed soldiers were stopping each vehicle as they arrived, searching them before they entered. Others were standing amongst the crowd. It was organised chaos. 

Amongst it all, Stockman stood with a clipboard and pen, his giant body looming over everyone as he barked orders. Eight strolled over, toying with the strap of his bag.

“Stockman.”

“You lived then.” The scientist barely glanced at him, “I don’t know what Bishop is thinking, transporting all of this over here. Lord knows where we shall keep it.” He gave a long, tired sigh and shook his head, “And I don’t have any of the equipment I requested, how he expects me to function as normal in these circumstances I’ll never know.”

“Um, I don’t know either, Sir.” Really, Eight just wanted to curl up and sleep.

“Sir?” Stockman raised an eyebrow, looking down at him for the first time, “Did you hit your head when you fell?”

“N-No, I’m just… Kinda tired, I guess, I don’t know…” Stockman examined him with a critical, holographic eye.

“I highly doubt you’ve eaten properly for a while, or slept…”

“I’ve been sick-”

“Sick?” Suddenly a blur of movement, Stockman all but threw the clipboard and pen at some unsuspecting worker and began hurrying Eight out of the tunnel and into the base, a rant starting up. “God only knows what your body was exposed to out there, and you’ve been sick? If Bishop’s managed to undo all my hard work I swear I will hack his systems so bad that it will set them back centuries.” 

“I-”

“Lord, if it’s done anything to your bloodwork, or your internal organs...” Stockman pushed him into an unused lab, “Your immune system could be completely compromised, and the sewer contains all sorts of diseases. Hell, you could drop dead any moment from a delayed reaction!”

Eight had the foresight to drop his bag to the ground before he was rugby-tackled onto a table, thick leather straps being pulled over his arms, chest, and legs. Immediately Stockman was pulling out needles and empty bags and all sorts of lovely science gear. 

“This is gonna be fun.” Eight muttered under his breath, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Eight, you have no idea how fun...


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eight remembers something important.

Eight realised far too late that Donatello had injected him with medicine, and because the universe was hating on him this week, he manged to remember the exact moment Stockman went still as he peered down a microscope.

“Eight…”

Still strapped to the table, Eight flexed his hands. He swallowed.

“Yeah?” Was he sounding casual? He was trying to sound casual.

“Where did you come into contact…?” Stockman drifted off, spinning round on the office chair to face him. He seemed genuinely perplexed, something so rare that if the situation had been different Eight would have loving it. They were quiet for a very long time, staring at each other, and Eight could see the gears working in the holographic head. 

“I don’t-”

“It’s funny,” Stockman cut in, strolling over and cocking his head to one side, “How one so near the blast can have so little injuries.” He let his eyes roam over Eight’s figure, “Or how none of those cuts became infected, in the sewers.” Stockman lent down until he was directly in Eight’s face, his voice soft yet dripping with threat. “Now tell me, who did you meet?”

“I-I didn’t-”

“Don’t lie to me, turtle. I doubt you even know what that medication is, or what it is for. Let alone where to find it. Someone found you, and nursed you back to health. You told Bishop, you master you are so _loyal_ to, that you got better on your own.” Stockman laughed lowly, dragging out each word with glee, “Wait until I tell him this!”

“Please, wait, I-”

“I can’t see the Purple Dragons helping you, and the Foot are out of the question.” Stockman meandered away from the table, obviously relishing in Eight’s increasing panic, “It would have to be someone compassionate, someone willing to let _you_ of all things in. Maybe the homeless? Ah, but where would they have found the medicine?” Stockman stood, watching an alien float about in a tank at one side of the room. After a moment of contemplation, his body went ridged, or at least, as ridged as a robotic body could go. Very slowly, he twisted round to gaze at him.

“I wonder…” His voice was quiet, his eyes unsure, “I wonder if you met _them_.”

“I met nobody!” Eight tried, but already he could see he had lost the battle, “Honestly!” Stockman’s eyes merely narrowed.

“You’re certainly covering for someone.” His brow furrowed, strode towards the doors of the lab, “I need to talk to Bishop.” 

Once alone, Eight let out a wet laugh.

……

To say Bishop was furious was the understatement of the year. The man was beyond reasoning as he paced the width of the lab, snapping and growling like some caged cat. And that _look_. Eight couldn’t tell if it was rage, resentment, or… Betrayal? 

Another event to add to the ever growing list of disappointments he had caused.

“Who?” Bishop screamed, eyes huge behind the sunglasses, “Just tell me who!”

“Nobody-” His cheek bloomed with heat as his head whipped to one side. That was gonna bruise. Somewhere in the background Stockman chuckled.

“Looks like your pet isn’t as well trained as you thought.”

Bishop seethed, marching up the man and out of Eight’s sight. 

“If you don’t want to be delivered to the Shredder on a silver platter you will not say another word.” There was so much temper and passion behind his voice that Eight could only assume Stockman had nodded as Bishop once more appeared before him, pulling at his tie. There was a long moment of just Bishop pacing, his body tense. Eventually he stopped, staring at the alien in the tank. His breathing slowed.

“Earlier, you asked me about the original DNA, and if we should be looking for the creature.” 

Eight no longer felt the need to hide the shaking, his entire attention focused to the man whose every movement was slow, calculated. A week ago Eight would have thought it was cool. 

“Why were you asking me that? What put that thought into your head?” As if a predator stalking, Bishop approached, “The person or people who helped you, took you in despite your appearance… They were able to see pass that. They were compassionate, they took pity. They were _weak_.” 

Bishop towered over the table, the stone dead expression making his face appear to be marble. 

“You met the turtles and rat, didn’t you?” 

His whole body shuddered; going as still as stone, like rigamortis had claimed control of his limbs. Eight could hardly breathe, the strap across his chest seeming to get tighter and tighter, squeezing him, suffocating him. His throat was tight and dry, and all moisture left his mouth, making his tongue feel uncomfortable and thick against his teeth. He wanted to shake his head, but his muscles refused.

“That’s all the answer I need.” Eight didn’t even see the fist coming down before the world snapped to black.

……

Donatello jolted awake, heart thundering against his chest as he sat bolt upright in his desk chair. Letting out a rattled breath, he closed his eyes, willing away the images of the nightmare. A glance at the clock revealed the time to be a little past three in the morning. Don sighed and rolled his shoulders, making them click. Apparently he had slept at his desk again. Not a hugely unusual occurrence in the Hamato household. In fact, finding him in his actual bed was often a sign of trouble. 

The computer beeped, and a vast array of numbers and symbols popped up on the screen. Through bleary eyes, Donatello tried to read them.

Ugh, never mind, coffee first. 

Leaving the relative safety of his lab, he padded tiredly across to the kitchen. The light was on, and sounds of cupboards opening and closing could be heard. Donatello sighed again, and mentally prepared himself for a lecture. 

“You’re up late.” Raphael didn’t even turn around to face him, instead continuing to stir the mug of something with a spoon. Donatello shrugged, though Raph wouldn’t see it.

“Could same the same for you.” 

Raph only grunted at that, tapping the spoon on the rim and dumping it in the sink. He finally turned and leant against the side, sipping what looked like hot chocolate. Donatello began preparing his liquid life.

“Ain’t it a little late for that?”

“Says the turtle drinking sugar.” The coffee machine hummed quietly. “So, why are you up late?”

“Couldn’t sleep, and then Leo snuck out-”

“Leo’s snuck out?” Donatello frowned, pouring drink, “Since when did he sneak out? Damn, now you need to find a new habit Raph.” His brother flicked him on the arm, but huffed a small laugh.

“I think he’s still wound up about… That whole business.”

“Still sounding a lot like you.” Don gulped down half of his drink in one. Ahh, it was nice to return to the living. His brother gave him a bewildered look.

“How do you not burn your tongue?”

“I’m fast.”

“Huh.”

A quiet fell as they cradled their drinks, the events of the previous few days filtering through their minds. Eventually Donatello broke the stillness.

“What do you think happened to him?” Raph made a ‘tch’ sound.

“Who cares?” His brother deliberately took a drink, glancing around the room.

“ _We_ should, shouldn’t we? I mean…” Don swallowed, looking into his mug, “We are technically brothers.”

“Just ‘cause he’s made from my blood doesn’t mean shit-”

“Language.”

“We brought him here, he was a jerk, and he left. Why do we need to get involved?”

“Master Splinter said he was acting, putting up walls.” Don swirled the coffee, watching spin, “He’s was panicking.”

“Don’t tell me you’re siding with Leo, Don, I’ve had enough of this ‘responsibility’ talk as it is.”

“I’m not siding with anyone, I’m just saying-”

“Don’t.” Raph whipped around, all but slamming his mug into the sink. He tightened his fists and let out a growling breath. “Look Don, all I know is messing with him makes it more likely that Bishop will find the lair, will find us. We can’t go prodding the tiger, or whatever the saying is, it’ll only cause trouble.”

Raph stamped out the room, leaving Donatello in the hush of the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're not going to see Eight for a little while... Hehe, I'm sure he's fine...


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys are on a mission

Winter was in full swing now, spraying snow and sludge up at the windscreen of the moving van. Leo was in the driver’s seat, Raph beside him while Don, April and Casey busied themselves in the back. A large plan of the docks was drawn open between them, Don and April muttering about air vents and locked doors and other important stuff Leo was sure he should be listening to. 

They had been planning this since yesterday afternoon, after Don managed to locate Leatherhead’s signature to somewhere _beneath_ the river. They had concluded the docks were the best place to investigate, but a snow storm the previous night had kept them in. Luckily, it had cleared enough during the day that they could leave the lair, though not before bundling in hats and scarfs. Coats and trousers had been abandoned, as they restricted movement.

But Leo’s mind was elsewhere, cast back to the events of two weeks ago. 

The whole thing didn’t sit well with him.

Firstly, that Raph and Splinter had been left alone to deal with the turtle’s – Eight’s – escape. Leo should have known that Eight would attempt to escape. Of course he would, Leo would do the exact same thing if he was in that position. 

Secondly, that Raph had allowed his temper to get so far ahead of himself that it only took two moves to render him useless against his opponent. They were ninja, had been since they were four, how could his brother be so stupid as to let two moves leave him at the mercy of another? How could Leo rely on him in battle if two moves left him defenceless, shell, even dead? 

Thirdly, that Eight had shown little respect for Master Splinter. It was as their father had said, Eight fought without honour. Eight was brutal, quick, and in some ways, very much like Leo. They both fight to the book, just as they had been taught, never diverging from their lessons. They were loyal to their masters alone, and would deal with anyone who came between them.

The main difference, however, was that Leo didn’t kill. Eight did.

Apparently Eight had threatened to kill them, though without much intention to actually carry out the deed. That was something Splinter had brought up, the empty threats against them. 

“There was great fear behind them, a confusion and uncertainty that was strange.”

“What do you mean?” Leo had asked from where he sat in the dojo, Don beside him and Raph licking his wounds in the doorway.

“He was scared, not only of us but about something else. I believe we said something to him that struck home.”

“Like Bishop?” Don suggested, “I mean he had no idea that we know him, or that he had kidnapped us numerous times.”

“That might well be it, my son. We must tread carefully. This is both our business and nothing to do with us at all. I believe it best we watch from afar, listen carefully to things said, and only intervene if there is no other choice.”

“What’s there to intervene about?” Raph said gruffly, “He’s nothing to do with us.”

“I cannot shake the feeling that only bad will come from our encounter, Raphael, not for us, but for him. If he has never been sick before, and had no idea of our existence, it suggests to me that Bishop has been sheltering him, moulding him to his will. As Donatello has explained, Eight is your sibling by blood. All of this does not sit well with me.”

“Hey,” Raph snapped Leo out of his thoughts as he leant over the passenger seat to the others in the back, “We’re here.”

They parked the van a block away, safe enough for April to be left alone, but close enough for her to hack into the strange signals emitting from one of the warehouses. Sticking to the shadows, Leo and the others made their way to the docks, crouching down on a nearby roof.

“See anything Don?"

Donatello shook his head as he peered through the night vision binoculars. 

“All clear so far. What’s the plan?”

“April, which warehouse is it?” Leo said through his earpiece, able to hear the faint tapping of a keyboard from the other end.

_“The one directly in front of you. There’s something else there too, but I can’t make it out. Be careful guys.”_

“Don’t worry, we will. Right,” Leo turned to the others, “We get across to the roof and go in through a window.” 

Nodding, Don opened his duffle bag and pulled out the grappling hook, firing it across the quiet street and empty dockyard. 

“Err, guys?” Casey piped up, eyeing the wire, “You do remember I ain’t a ninja, right?” Raph hit in over the head.

“That’s why you’ve got the zip wire gear, bone-head.”

“Is that what this stuff is?”

Rolling his eyes, Don hooked Casey up and sent his flying across. Once over the turtles followed, walking with relative ease across the wire. 

“Jeez it’s cold.” Raph grumbled as they approached the building, pulling his hat down further.

“Until we find clothes that aren’t restrictive, then we just have to make do.” Leo said over his shoulder. “Just keep moving and try to avoid going through too much snow.”

“Fat chance,” Don sighed, “Have you seen the roof?”

Looking to where Casey stood, Leo shivered at the ankle-deep snow. Casey didn’t seem too pleased either.

“Sure, take your time, s’not like I’m standing in the cold or nothing.”

“Yeah yeah,” Raph smirked, “Next time we’ll pack you mittens.”

“Very funny.”

“Guys, quiet.” Leo peered through the window into the dark warehouse. Don came up beside him.

“It looks empty.”

“Yeah, _looks_ , but it might not be. Any cameras?”

“Not that I can see… April?”

_“I can’t find anything, but that strange signal is still there. I can’t get into it.”_

“Hey, there’s a truck heading the way.” Casey pointed at a big supermarket van pulling into the dock gates. Raph grabbed Casey’s arm, pulling him into the snow.

“Hey!”

“Keep down, you knuckle-head.”

For the briefest of seconds the headlights caught them, making all of them tense. However the truck kept moving, slowing down as it reached the warehouse. Stopping, a man jumped from the passenger side and began to open the doors. 

A company fleece, a hat, trousers and boots. Didn’t seem too suspicious. But Leo frowned, glancing back into the warehouse. This place was empty, shell it looked abandoned, why were they parking here?

The truck drove inside, reaching the centre of the room and stopping. The passenger climbed back inside, giving the door a good slam as he did. Leo rubbed his hands together to warm them and nudged Don.

“Thoughts?”

“They’re going somewhere, I reckon soon something will- Ah, like that.” Don pointed as the entire floor began to sink, as if an elevator. After a moment, a doorway below the ground began to emerge, a bright light glowing through and highlighting the truck. Leo stood bolt upright.

“We need to get down there.”

“Move.” Raph pushed Leo and Don out the way and wedged his sai between the window and the frame, working it until it sprung open. 

“Go.”

Leo waited until they had all dropped in before going himself, landing silent on the concrete ground next to a whining Casey, who was rubbing his back.

“Keep to the wall.” Pulling Casey with him, they huddled out of sight of the lorry. Soon the doorway was fully revealed and the floor came to a stop. The truck drove through, heading along a well-lit, tarmac tunnel.

“Right, let’s go.”

The tunnel was long and bent round to one side, taking them under the river. It wasn’t cold, like Leo expected, and distant voices echoed. They kept to the wall, moving quickly as a group. 

“Woah, guys stop.” Holding out his arm for Casey as he inevitably missed the instructions, they peered around the corner where the truck was parked. The passenger and driver were out and opening the back, climbing inside and grabbing boxes and tanks and all sorts of other strange looking equipment. Another person, a women, appeared through some electronic, heavy metal doors.

“Right, what’s this lot for?”

“Stockman’s labs.”

“Stockman?” Don whispered, “Is this where he’s been hiding?”

“It could be-”

“Guys, another van’s coming.” Raph interrupted, making them all freeze. Sure enough, the distant rumble of an engine was heading this way.

“Hide.” Leo ordered.

“Where? Leo, there is nowhere to hide!” Raph reached for his sai, “I say we jump it.”

“We’re too close to the other van, they’ll notice-”

“Up there,” Don interrupted, “Air vent.” Nodding hastily, Leo put his hands together beneath it.

“Don, you first.”

“Right.”

The mechanic was quick to push the opening up, using Leo’s boost to climb inside and lean down.

“Raph, go.”

The engine grew louder, it was getting too close. Worriedly glancing over his shoulder, Leo could see the headlights on the tunnel wall. The ground vibrated beneath them. As soon as Raph was through Leo turned to Casey.

“You-”

“No time.” Casey grabbed Leo and practically threw him in the air, Don and Raph only just able to grab his arms and pull him up. Seconds later, the headlights spun on Casey and tires shrieked.

“Hey!” An angry voice shouted, and Casey put his hands up as footsteps approached, a confused expression on his face.

“Yo, any idea what the hell’s going on?” He said, walking forward to meet the men, “One minute I’m fast asleep in this warehouse, the next I’m in some sort of crazy tunnel! What, we homeless can’t sleep in the warehouses no-more?”

“Knuckle-head.” Raph murmured, carefully closing the air vent.

“He’s brought us some time, while they’re distracted let’s keep moving.”

Nodding, the three turtles made their way through the vents, over the metal doors and into the base.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My attempt at writing Leo, not a turtle I find particularly easy to write. Hopefully it worked?


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The guys find Leatherhead, and then things get complicated...

Don moved his shell cell about, tracking the signal. It was fuzzy, probably as a result of wherever they were, but it hung on. 

“That way.” 

They were still in the vents, moving as silent as possible through the base. Leatherhead was here somewhere, had been for who knows how long, and they needed to find him. Don tried to focus on the task at hand, refusing to believe that their friend had suffered badly at their negligence. They should have checked in on him sooner, _he_ should have. Over three weeks was too long for Leatherhead to go without contacting them. When they had realised he was missing, the turtles had searched all over the sewers. That is, of course, until they found Eight.

Shaking his head, Don ignored that for now and tightened the scarf around his neck. He needed to focus.

“Go left…Wait, hang on.” Holding out his phone, he studied the signal, it looks like…

“Don, come on bro.” Raph said, sitting back on his heels, “We can’t stay here long.”

“I know. It looks like Leatherhead’s beneath us. Leo, can you find the next opening?”

“On it.” 

They found it two meters further, and Don very slowly opened it. A dark room was below them, filled with tall tanks. Each tank contained some kind of glorious glowing green goo, each holding a specimen. A storeroom, Don theorized. 

“There’s hundreds.” Raph muttered. “How are we going to find Leatherhead?” 

“He’s somewhere at the back of the room, going by the signal, but where I can’t tell you.”

Leo had the type of expression which told Don he was forming a plan. After a moment he sat up.

“We’ll take a row each and meet at the end before moving onto the next three. Shout if you find him.”

“Right.”

Somewhere, deep within the scientist that made Don, the turtle was longing to look at each creature, to study it, make notes, and take photos. They were fascinating, creatures from all across the universe, from far flung galaxies that no human (or turtle) had ever seen or heard of. He wanted to ask questions, collect data, to let them out and _talk_. 

The other part of Don, however, the brother and son side of him, was horrified. Splinter had warned them countless times when they were children what could happen if they were ever captured by humans, and Donatello couldn’t shake the feeling that this was some evil, skin-crawling warning of what could be. He and his brothers, alone, silent, locked away in a tank to be peered at, prodded, and experimented on. 

Don kept moving. 

“Over here!” Raph called from the next row, “Got him!”

Leatherhead was suspended in the goo, numerous wires and tubes snaking down from the top of the tank and into his arms. A tight grimace was spread across his face, and his hands were tense.

“Don, can you get him out?” Leo asked, eyes not leaving their friend.

“Give me three minutes.”

As soon as he connected his phone to the electronic screen on the base of the tank he was away, hacking into the system and commanding the suspension fluid to drain. A small symbol popped up in the corner of the screen as they waited for the tank to empty. Don swallowed.

“Guys… This is E.P.F tech.”

“E.P.F?” Raph crossed his arms, “Sounds familiar, but-”

“Earth Protection Force,” Leo clarified, “As in-”

“Bishop.” Don finished, worrying his lip, “This is Bishop’s base.”

“Shit.”

“Language.” Leo said automatically, not even looking at Raph. “This doesn’t change anything; the plan remains as it is. We get Leatherhead out.”

“Ugh…” The three turned at the sound of their friend, who was slumped against the glass of the now empty tank. Don strode forward.

“Raph, help me tip the tank, it only opens at the top.”

……

Leatherhead couldn’t stand well at first, so Raph shouldered much of the weight. It was clear they couldn’t go back the way they came, Leatherhead was too big, so Don and Leo were crouched by the thankfully non-automatic door, peering through a crack and working out what to do next.

“Apologies I cannot stand by myself, Raphael,” Leatherhead began, voice still croaky from lack of use, “I cannot seem to get my head straight.”

“Don’t think about it. Anyone would be a bit shaky for a while.” Leatherhead gave him a tired smile as his brothers came over.

“We’ve lost connection with April, so looks like we’re on our own.” Leo explained, “The plan is we’re going to move from room to room. I’ll go ahead and check that it’s clear, you guys follow. We keep going until we either find something better or get back to the tunnel and work it out from there.”

“But the doors are automatic; you can’t just open them and have no one enter.” Raph frowned, adjusting his grip on the crocodile. 

“I know, but at the moment we don’t have much choice,” Leo sighed, “We’ll just have to be quick.”

“Great.”

Carefully, Leo left the room, darting across and opening the door a little further up the corridor. Glancing in, he nodded to the others before disappearing inside. 

“Raph, you and Leatherhead go; I’ll watch your backs.” Don brought out his bō, holding it ready to fend off any attackers.

And so that’s how it went, Leo going first, Raph and Leatherhead second, Don last, going silently from room to room. Leatherhead managed to perk up a bit, leaning less and less on Raph until he eventually was able to stand on his own, though not much more than that. 

Raph hated this plan with a passion. They were in the heart of enemy territory, a crazed enemy at that, yet their escape was simply hoping they didn’t run into anyone. Hell, they might be all over CCTV for all he knew, and Bishop’s goons were just waiting somewhere, ready for them to run into them.

Raph had been captured by Bishop before, it weren’t fun.

“There’s people coming!” Leo suddenly hissed, darting back into the room he had just left. They all stood frozen, intently listening to the approaching footsteps. “They’re coming this way, hide!”

Spinning around, Raph’s eyes darted around the room. It was some kind of lab, with glass tubes and bubbling chemicals everywhere. To one side of the room were a series of tanks, much like the one Leatherhead had been in.  
“Down there!” Don dashed passed him, kneeling by a grate in front of the tubes where presumably the goo was poured away, using his bō to leaver it up. After helping Leatherhead down, they all scooted back into the shadows of the tunnel beneath the room. There was a small stream of water running quietly down the middle, and it reminded Raph somewhat of the sewer tunnels. Above them the doors opened.

Two sets of footsteps entered the room, as well as a pair of wheels. One stopped while the second and the wheels continued; going right up to the tanks not even a meter above their heads. Beside him, Leo reached for his swords. Raph’s own grip tightened on his sai.

“Stockman,” A voice, cool and smooth, said, and instantly Raph felt his skin prickle, “Put him into the container.”

“And here I was going to make him into a pie,” Came the sarcastic reply, “Silly me.”

“I can make your life very uncomfortable, Stockman. It would pay to remember that.” 

“An empty threat. You forget I worked with the Shredder.” There was movement above them, the clanking of metal. After a moment Stockman decided to add, “Why so cranky Bishop? After all, isn’t this going to be so much easier? No more sneaking around or hiding things away?

“Funny enough, when I train someone, I expect it to be put to use.”

“Wait…” Stockman’s voice got quieter as he apparently turned away from them, “You actually wanted him to be the head of the special operations-”

“You have a job to do, Stockman. And unless you do it now, next time the Foot attack I’ll hand you over without that big protective body of yours. We’ll see what use Shredder has with a brain and eyeball.”

Stockman sighed before resuming whatever he had been doing. The wheels were brought closer and a tank moved from its spot, and after a moment the sound of liquid filling it could be heard. 

“Happy?”

“Delighted.” Bishop drawled, “Set the machine to collect some blood samples, Twenty-Five is turning out better than expected, another boost should help things move nicely along.”

The doors hissed and Bishop walked away, leaving Stockman to push some buttons, humming to himself, before eventually leaving the room too. The little group remained silent, standing still until they were sure the danger had passed.

“Don,” Leo said in a hushed tone, “Any idea where this tunnel leads?” Donatello glanced around.

“It’s unlikely to be the sewers, as whatever they pour down here would contaminate the water, but I reckon it would be close by.”

“But which way would we go?” Leatherhead asked, “We could be walking miles either way be-”

“ _Gu-… G-g-uys? Ca-…Hear-r me?_ ”

“April!” Leo’s hand flew to his ear, “Can you hear us?”

“ _Yea-a-h, Casey is… -th me, I’ve got-t… Tracker on… -ou._ ”

“Can you find a way out for us?” Don asked, pacing a tunnel a little, “We’re beneath the base.”

“ _Hang on…Follo-… The tunnel l-left an-…-eep going. There s-s-s-hould b-… A grate outside th-... Docks._ ”

“Thanks Ape,” Leo turned to them, “Right, let’s move.” They started forward, Leo leading the way.

“Guys?” Don’s unsure voice called, making the three of them turn. Don was staring up through the grate, looking uneasy.

“What’s wrong?” Raph joined him, gazing up in confusion. His eyes widened and his muscles stiff. “Oh.”

“It’s Eight.” Don was quiet and something unreadable passed through his expression, “They’ve put him in a tank.” Leo came up behind them, awkwardly placing a hand on Don’s arm. The youngest of the three turned to him. “What should we do, Leo?”

“Nothing.” Raph said before Leo could open his mouth. He already knew what their leader was going to say, and it wasn’t happening on his watch. “We walk away. That guy is nothing but trouble.”

“Raph, they’re experimenting on him,” Don gave him that look which he was normally weak too, so sad and pathetic that in any other circumstance Raph would crumple. Not this time. 

“This isn’t like Leatherhead, who was locked away in the back of some forgotten room. They’ll know he’s gone, they’re planning on coming back!” Raph threw a glance at Leo, “They’ll search for him, They’ll search the sewers. Do we really want Bishop running around the tunnels?”

“He was restrained,” Leatherhead said gently, having moved over and stood studying Eight, “There are marks on his wrists and ankles, he was fighting them. His eye is also injured.”

“See?” Don piped up, “He didn’t want this!”

“Are you guys even listening to me?” Raph growled, “He’s dangerous!”

“He’s also our responsibility!” Leo countered, getting into his face, “He is dangerous but Bishop is worse! Something has happened between them causing Bishop to treat him as such, and apparently planning to for a long time! We must help-”

“Bishop is _dangerous_! And what are we going to do when he finds the lair? Go hide at the farmhouse?”

“He won’t find the lair!”

“He will!”

“Guys!” Don’s distressed voice made both brothers snap away from each other. Don and Leatherhead were crouching against the wall of the tunnel, Leatherhead with an arm on Donatello’s shoulder. “Someone’s coming!”

Leo and Raph slunk back, listening to the opening door and heeled footsteps which approached the tanks. From this different viewpoint, Raph could see a young woman in a lab coat. She pressed a few buttons on the controller of the tank Eight was in, humming to herself as numbers darted across the screen. Making note of these on a clipboard, she wandered away, her heels clicking against the floor. 

Raph’s fist clenched, and he faced Leo.

“If you wanna endanger everyone, fine.” He hissed, ignoring the hurt expression that Leo attempted to hide, “But I want no part of it.”

With that he spun on his heels and left, marching away into the darkness of the tunnel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided 'screw-it. I'm fed up of having completed chapters sitting there.' So I'm just gonna upload the ones I've wrote, and then this story will be updated as and when I get the chance.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can probably cut the tension within the lair with a butter knife at this point...

Eight had no idea where he was.

He wasn’t in bed, nor was he strapped down to a table. In all honesty, it felt like he was on the floor of the training room, but that made no sense, unless Bishop wanted him to train for his punishment. And knowing how angry (furious, monstrous) Bishop had been, Eight doubted he had been let off that lightly.

Bishop…

Something deep within Eight withered, crumpling up like wet paper into a sad, soggy ball. He had disappointed his master, he had lied to him, betrayed him. Eight had turned his back on the one person who had been there his entire life, the one who gave him his weapons and spent hours teaching him how to fight.

And yet, Bishop had lied too. He had told Eight that the original DNA had never been found, that Eight was the only source left. Three other mutant turtles would disagree.

Someone behind him shifted, and Eight froze. He had to yet opened his eyes, not really ready to face whatever he was about to receive, but he hadn’t expected someone hovering over him. It was weird, now he sought to see it; the other person’s presence was a clear as day.

Hell, he really wasn’t with it at the moment.

“I know you are awake.”

Oh shit.

Oh _shit_.

Eight jumped bolt upright, eyes practically bulging as he gaped at the rat opposite him resting on his knees with his hands on his lap.

“Y-You!”

“Me.” The rat answered, his ears twitching about.

“But…But how? Where…?” Eight babbled, suddenly taking in his surroundings. It was some kind of dojo, with several battered dummies standing pathetically along the back wall with other equipment.

“You are in my lair.” The rat supplied, his expression something Eight couldn’t read. “Please sit, I shall explain.”

Seeing no other option, Eight did so, though not before adding, “I didn’t tell!”

“I know.” He was given a gentle smile, “You kept your word, and for that I am in debt to you.” Unsure with how else to receive this praise, Eight turned his head away, his firsts clenching and unclenching. The rat accepted this and continued. “My sons went to Bishop’s base without knowledge that was what it was. They sought to rescue a friend of ours, and they did, but while they were there they came across you.”

“They did?” Eight frowned, “When?”

“You were not awake. Bishop and Stockman had placed you into a tank with suspension fluid.” The rat’s voice was soft, and something in his eyes turned to sympathy, or pity. He hunched his shoulders a little, as if he wanted to reach out and touch Eight, but he didn’t. 

“I was in a tank?” Inwardly Eight winced at how weak his own voice had become. His clenched hands began to tremor, his palms sweaty.

“Yes, I believe you were meant to be there for a while.”

“O-Oh.”

A silence fell between them, and Eight had a feeling he was meant to do something here, but he ignored that, instead staring intently at his hands. He flexed his fingers, just as something to do, because _shit_ how was he meant to process this? 

Bishop had just thrown him in a tank. Eight had failed in whatever duties he was meant to be accomplishing walking around the base day-in-day-out, so Bishop just shut him away, ready to be drained of blood whenever they wanted. How long would he have been in there? Weeks? Months? Would he eventually be let out? Was this his punishment for lying?

_Controlled environment._

That was how he had always lived. Under lock and key, restricted to certain areas, and forbidden to leave the base, with minimal access to the internet and the outside world. He only knew of _Dracula_ because he had snuck into the break room, the only bit of defiance he had ever done. And _Dracula_ hardly seemed compromising.

Compromised. That’s how he was now. Dirty, stained, a traitor. He had let down years of work, training, studying, (deaths) and for what? To ruin all of that because he had failed to notice a stupid bomb on some guys chest? All this, all these stupid, _shitty_ events one after another, because he had been forcibly removed from the base he didn’t even want to leave.

“I should have told him.” He said, quietly, barely a whisper. The rat heard it though, his posture straightening. To Eight’s surprise, however, his words held understanding.

“You have lost all you have known. You have been betrayed by your master. You are now faced with the task of building your life without everything you once had.” The rat bowed his head. “But you have also shown you are loyal to the things you know are _right_. You threatened violence, yet didn’t kill the innocent. You respected our bargain, understanding what the results of failing to do so would mean.” This time, a hand was placed on Eight’s shoulder, but while the rat tried to make eye contact, Eight refused, turning his gaze to the wall. “You may have buried it, but there is a softer character beneath these walls built over the years of training under Bishop. A side of you that you cannot afford others to see.”

“There’s nothing stopping me from still telling Bishop, you know.” This time Eight made eye contact, his face hard, “That would sort the majority of my problems. Why should I care about putting you first?” The hand fell away, and the rat stood.

“I do not know. You shall have to find the answer to that yourself.” Leaning on his cane, the rat moved away to the doors. “Donatello will bring you some food soon. I will leave you alone to meditate.”

When the rat was gone, Eight laid down, back to the doors, and allowed the silent tears which had been stinging his eyes to flow.

……

It was the morning after Eight had woken up, and Donatello and his brothers lingered outside the dojo, uncertain of where training was taking place. It was a Wednesday, and usually that meant using the equipment, but seeing as Eight hadn’t left the room at all, they were unsure if that would be the case today. 

Pacing about beside him, Raph grumbled under his breath. Don’s red-branded brother had refused to talk to either Don or Leo, instead avoiding them like the plague. Master Splinter had taken him to one side the previous night for a word, but things were still pretty rocky between them.

“Are you ready, my sons?” Splinter asked, appearing from the kitchen.

“Yes, Master.” Leo said quickly.

“Good.” Splinter approached the dojo and opened the door, announcing, “My sons will be training in here. Feel free to stay as long as you keep out the way, or to leave if you wish to do so.”

Well, that solved that.

Raph seemed less than impressed, stomping in behind Leo, all hot air and grit teeth. Don followed somewhat timidly behind. Not that he necessarily felt threatened by Eight, after all, if it did come down to that then it was four against one, but almost _embarrassed_. It had been a shouting match last time Eight was here, as well as a fist fight. To be training in front of him felt awkward, and as they began their warm up he could feel eyes on the back of his head.

Eight was curled up in the corner of the room, as physically far away from them as possible. He had his legs brought up, his arms crossed over them and his head resting on top. Across his face was the type of expression that said ‘ _Speak to me, look at me, and you’re dead._ ’ Don was more than willing to comply. 

For the most part training was uneventful, though when it came to sparring Raph and Leo got a little too powerful with their hits, for which Splinter scolded them. While his brothers had fought Don had spared a quick glance over to Eight, who was paying him little attention in favour of the fight. There was the slightest of frowns on his face, and his head was tilted a little to the side. 

Hm.

That evening, long after his family had retreated to their rooms, Don snuck out of his lab. From all the chaos of the last few weeks, well, nearly a month now, Don had fallen behind on his projects, providing the perfect excuse to stay locked away in his lab. Raph had hardly batted an eyelid when he manifested in the doorway at two in the morning. While he hadn’t said goodnight exactly, it was enough for Don to know that they would be on speaking terms some point soon. If Leo had received the same privilege remained to be seen. Don’s brothers had always had an uneasy relationship.

As silent as his training had taught him, he moved over to the dojo. Inside, sounds of shuffling feet could be heard.

Ah, his theory was right then.

For a moment Don paused, and contemplated going back to the comfort of his lab. He had succeeded; he could go now. Yet without really thinking on it his hands went to the door, cracking it open.

A lone candle was lit, on a stand at the far side of the room, the flickering light catching the dark figure of Eight. He was doing exactly as Don had thought; slowly going over the moved both Raph and Leo had done during their fight. They were clearly new to him, his feet weren’t quite right, and his muscles were too intense in trying to copy from the memory of this morning, but he wasn’t too bad.

“What.” Eight said, his voice grumpy and tight. Don nearly jumped, and slowly entered the room. Eight had yet to talk to any of them, even Splinter after their first interaction. 

Intense blue eyes snapped to him, holding defensive anger. Somewhat like a cornered dog, Don thought. He swallowed.

“Your feet need to be wider.” With a lack of anything else to say, Don just went with the easiest option. For a moment both turtles just stared at each other, before the mildest twinkle of understanding filtered through the protective walls.

“Like this?” He moved back into position, adjusting his feet as best he could. 

“Kinda, here let me show you.” Carrying out the move, Don quickly turned back to Eight, who was now watching him with a critical eye. It was somewhat unnerving. “This is an advanced move, so I would not worry about getting it-”

Eight tried the move once more, and Don blinked, physically reminding himself not to let his mouth hang open.

“Like that?”

“Y-Yeah, that was perfect.”

“Cool.” Eight’s whole demeanour had changed, as if perfecting that one move had suddenly removed all the anger and defiance built up within him. Those eyes, now they seemed baby blue, full of energy and the need to please, like a puppy. While his face was neutral, the tenseness of the room had now faded.

“Hey, how did… Leonardo, I think? Do that thing with his arm?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very...Confusing situation for everyone involved.
> 
>  
> 
> (Also thanks for the support guys!)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A discussion is had

It was nice not to think for a while. With training, he could turn off, go through the moves and not worry about all the chaos that was his life now. At least, he could in theory, anyway. Donatello’s training method was making relaxing rather hard. When he was with Bishop, it was silence, simple instructions and demonstrations. There was no emotion, no chatter, all energy was focused into the moves. Donatello, however, talked. A lot. About everything. 

“It’s about feeling the energy flowing through you.”

“R-Right.” 

At first it hadn’t been too bad. Donatello was too meek to say all that much and Eight could let his guard down a touch. But the older turtle had quickly gained in confidence and became more vocal as a result. For a while, Eight tried to pretend that the purple mask was Bishop’s dark glasses, but Donatello just emoted way too much for that to work.

Eyes were on him, watching him, noticing every little thing he did wrong and judging him for it. They were going to pick up on every fault, every misstep, and then the accusations of wandering minds and ignorance would come. A weird crushing feeling sank through him, every sense acutely aware of what he was doing, where his feet were, his hands, his head. What expression was he pulling? Was he frowning? Was it too friendly? 

“Your hands are tensing; you need to be relaxed throughout your body.”

Eight was acutely aware his hands were tense, because at that very moment he was trying to smother the slight tremble that had taken over them. He swallowed and nodded. He kept going, until-

“Eight, are you ok?”

“I’m fine.” He said stiffly. 

“Look, if you need to talk, about anything-”

“I said I’m fine.” He stopped, crossing his arms and pulling his best uninterested look. “Are we done now?”

“W-Well,” Donatello spluttered, “We can if you want to be.”

“Cool.” Turning his back to the other turtle, Eight wandered over to his corner and settled down against the wall. Donatello lingered for a moment before heading over to the door.

“Goodnight.” The older turtle said weakly. He received no reply.

……

Splinter had settled himself into a light meditation, two cups of herbal tea set out before him. He was in the dojo, receiving the silent treatment from the sullen young turtle that had placed himself as far from him as physically possible. Without opening his eyes Splinter reached forward and took hold of the cup, bringing it to his lips and taking a drink. He had hoped that the peace offering would help, but the turtle was stubborn and had yet to rise to the bait. He truly was of his son’s blood. 

“My sons inform me there has been a lot of Foot activity this last week,” Splinter said into the silence, eyes still closed. “They seem to be recruiting some of the more violent members of the Purple Dragons.” 

He was trying to converse on neutral ground, a topic that both he and Eight could relate, however this fell flat as he received no answer.

“I suppose you may not be familiar with the Purple Dragons, Bishop does not engage with them, as far as I can tell-”

“He does.”

“Oh?” 

“Not often, usually when he’s trying to get information.”

“Have you ever met them?”

“Once.” There were sounds of Eight shifting, “When I was about… Ten, maybe? Bishop was trying to work something out; I don’t really know the details though.”

“One would not expect a ten year old to understand everything that was said.”

“Heh, you’re very different from Bishop.”

They were silent for a moment, Splinter pushing away the uncomfortable feeling that had settled in his chest. After all, it was hard not to imagine his own children in that position. 

“When did he start training you with weapons? I know I debated with myself for a long time when it came to my sons, for some reason it is hard to trust children with sharp, pointy things.” He heard Eight chuckle softly. 

“How old were they when you let them?”

“Four, wooden weapons, of course.”

“Of course.” Eight echoed, quieter than before. They fell silent again, and Splinter took another drink of his tea.   
“I was three.” The turtle finally spoke up, his voice suddenly much louder and closer than before, making Splinter physically startle. Opening his eyes, he found Eight sat across from him, taking a tentative sip of the tea. He raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment on the taste. Composing himself quickly, Splinter settled.

“Ah. Bishop must have had more confidence in you than I with my sons.”

“Yeah, something like that.” 

“What was your weapon of choice?”

“Guns.” Eight said instantly, staring into his drink. 

“Oh.” Splinter took another sip. Eight made a huffing noise.

“You don’t approve?”

“I… Cannot say that I do.” He struggled for a moment, not wanting to break the small moment of calm that had settled between them and send Eight scuttling back to his corner. “Guns are quick and precise; there is no equality between fighters.”

“Have you ever been in a hand-to-hand fight with guns?”

“No, I cannot say that I have.”

“Try it, you’ll find it’s not as easy as just aiming and pulling the trigger.”

“How so?” Splinter asked, genuinely interested in the young turtle’s fighting technique. Eight shifted a little.

“Well, you’re directly in the enemy’s face, aren’t you? They’re going to be doing everything to steer your gun away from them. You have to dodge them, use their fighting against them, and get them into a position where you can deliver a fatal shot, like the head. If you can’t do that then at the very least you need to get them injured and away from you. They’ll be distracted and you can finish the job.”

“That’s… Quite intense.” Splinter watched as annoyance took over Eight’s face.

“Ok, so, imagine I was using some kind of sword instead of a gun, yeah?” Splinter nodded, “Would you tell me to fight any different?”

“If your opponent is down, there is no need to kill them.”

“So they can kill you later on? That does nothing but create more enemies. You’ll be living in fear, waiting for the next attack.”

“You left Raphael.” Splinter countered, “Do you remember the conversation we had then?”

“You were on about honour; everyone seems to be on about that recently.”

“Do they?”

“One of the Foot elite went on about it too.”

“Really?”

“I shot him in the head.” 

Splinter swallowed. Bishops teachings were strong; this was going to be a lot harder than he anticipated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare yourselves, we're about to go into the juicy chapters!
> 
> Also I want to point out the rating for this story. I mean this has been pretty gory already, but still, please police yourselves and respect that I do put ratings up for a reason.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Eight finds happiness

After nearly a month of Eight ending up with the Hamatos, there was an incident.

“Master Splinter?” April’s voice was filled with static, the whole line crackling badly, “The guys are in trouble.”

Splinter had been settled on the couch, his favourite soap now playing muted in front of him. There was no need to elaborate which ‘guys’ Miss O’Niel was talking about.

“Please explain.” He said, standing with the mobile device to his ear. 

“They were fighting some Purple Dragons, and Raph got hit by a dart.” There was a muffled noise in the background, “Casey says two darts, and then they took him away in a van. Leo and Donnie went after them and ended up at a Dragon base. Long story short they’re now locked up in the basement of the building.”

“Thank you, Miss O’Niel.” Splinter was making his way to his room. He would need a much sturdier cane than the one he was currently using.

“What shall we do?”

Cane secured, Splinter entered the elevator up to the garage.

“I am on my way to yours now.”

……

The rat vanished behind the doors, and a soft whirring noise indicated the lift rising to street level.

Eight was now alone. 

He had been listening into the conversation from the dojo, safely hidden behind the thin paper walls. Although the rat’s voice had sounded calm, there was been small signs to his internal worry. The way his breath hitched when ‘Miss O’Niel’ had said something, the hurried nature of his footsteps, and although Eight had been unable to see his face, he was sure that there would have been deep lines of worry.

He was alone.

Standing, Eight left the room, staring around the quiet living area. The rat had left the TV on. Eight shuffled over, picking up the remote and flicking through the channels. Adverts, soaps, documentaries and news reports flashed before him. But there was nothing of interest. He did not understand any of the references, had little idea where events were taking place, and had no interest in the soppy lives of make believe characters. If someone who didn’t know him was watching right now, they would think him bored.

They would be wrong. In actual fact, he was waiting, giving the rat enough time to exit whatever building was above them, so he could follow. He wasn’t going to go save the other turtles, oh no, screw that. But what he was going to do, what he had been longing to do, was go outside.

He had never been outside, not properly anyway. Sure, he had seen it from a truck window, but that was not the same as actually being outside. He had once argued to Bishop about it, stating that he was not being fully trained without at least _smelling_ what fresh air was like. Bishop had laughed, and told him there was no fresh air to smell in New York anyway.

He knew about the outside because Bishop had been strict with his teachings. Although he never really got a grasp on it, they had studied geography and geology, and he had dissected enough animals to understand the basic principles. He knew how clouds were made, where storms came from, how creatures evolved. He knew about population densities, and how money around the world worked. He understood a little Russian, even less Chinese, and nothing of Japanese. Bishop had discussed life in suburban areas, in run-down estates and how the rich tended to design their houses. Eight knew all of this.

Yet ask him the average price of a hotdog in a downtown area, and he had no clue.

_That_ was where he had really condemned Bishop’s teachings.

Sure, he knew how all of this worked; yet ask him to fit in, to understand the funny little cultural things people do? No chance.

This was his chance to go and find out for himself.

Feeling like he had left enough time, Eight padded over to the elevator, the grand doors opening for him. Stepping inside, they closed and the whole room vibrated as he was transported upwards, the doors opening again a moment later. 

He was in a garage, by the looks of it. Grinning, Eight left the building, and for the first time went outside.  
There was a chilly breeze floating around the quiet street, reminding Eight it was, in fact, winter. Seasons didn’t tent to matter underground, so he was not used to them. 

Darting across the street and into an alley, he quickly zipped up a fire escape, clambering onto a rooftop. For a moment, he just stood there. Stretched out before him, like an ocean of high towers and bright lights, was New York City. Planes hummed in the sky, transporting people across the world. Cars and taxis honked and beeped their way around, filling the air with the smell of fumes. In an apartment somewhere a party was taking place, the sounds of thumping music and drunken chants floating with the wind. 

For the first time in forever Eight smiled, and ran.

……

They returned to the lair late, everyone tired and battered and bruised. April and Casey had been dropped off at their respective stops, leaving just the Hamato family.

Raph kept his head down, flexing his sore hand. One of those goons just didn’t know when to stay down.

They parked the van and slowly climbed out, and Raph refused to make eye contact with Donnie, who was scanning him over with a concerned eye. He needn’t bother, he was fine. Few bumps here and there, but nothing he couldn’t walk off. He should be more focused on Leo anyway, his brother branding a nasty cut across his shoulder. 

As they left the elevator, Leo went to place a hand on his shoulder, but Raph quickly dodged it, marching off to the relative safety of his room. 

“I think,” He heard Master Splinter say as he left; “I shall retire for the night. Donatello, Leonardo, once you have seen to your injuries please do the same.”

“Hai Sensei.”

Shutting the door firmly behind him, making it clear to his brothers he would not appreciate a midnight visit to discuss feelings, Raph flung himself into his hammock, barely taking a moment to chuck his T-Shell on the bedside table. The material bounced with the sudden wait, swaying him from side to side. Huffing, he stuck his arm over his eyes, willing the world to disappear around him.

Idiot.

He had been such an idiot.

All that over some stupid darts he was too careless to dodge. 

Idiot, idiot, _idiot._

There was some scuffling near the door of his room, someone running by. Raph briefly wondered if Leo’s scratch was really that bad.

Oh yay, another thing to grate at him.

“I can’t find him!” Donnie’s voice called out.

“Same here, he’s gone!” Leo answered father away.

Unless Master Splinter had decided to leg it, they must be talking about… Him. 

Raph turned over, grabbing his pillow and stuffing his head beneath it. He had been doing his best to avoid the new resident in their home, and had been rather successful in that fact. Leo had tried to get on his case about it, but Raph had ignored him. He had been ignoring Leo a lot lately.

May have helped him avoid those darts.

Don wasn’t as naggy as Leo, though there was clear disapproval. Raph didn’t know what had fully turned his brother, who had seemed to be middling about on a form of middle ground between him and Leo, but at some point he had decided to side with Leo. Bully.

He rolled over onto his other side.

Leo’s door closed, signalling he had gone to bed.

Not long after, Don also vanished into his room, for once not staying up until an ungodly hour in his lab. He must have found tonight especially tiring. 

All because Raph couldn’t-

“Ahh!” snapping upright, Raph clambered out of the hammock, grabbing his phone before stomping out. He needed air.

……

From his secret perch on the fire escape, Eight watched. He was along a street filled with bars and fast food joints. People were coming and going, getting drunk and getting high. Some were out for a good time, some were out because of friends, and some were out looking to sell their less than legal wares. None of them seemed to care about the cold weather, wearing shorts, dresses, skirts, only a few with enough sense to put on a jacket.

To be honest, it was _interesting._

It was a small snapshot into the everyday lives of humans. Eight never would have seen this at the base. All the soldiers and scientists were on duty, rarely did he see anything of their personal lives and habits. Certainly Stockman and Bishop would never discuss it with him.

Eight could not help but feel a little cheated.

This was fun! There was music and laughter and shouting. There were smells of deep fried something being made, and he through an open back door he could hear kitchen staff shouting orders.

“What do you mean they don’t want it?”

“They’ve changed their mind, they want a kebab!”

“Did they pay for it?”

“They’ve paid for both!”

“But they don’t want it?”

“No!”

“Well what the hell am I meant to do with it then?”

“Dump it!”

A man wearing an apron appeared from the open door, cussing and swearing as he lifted a bin lid and chucked in a box. He vanished back into the building, and, curiosity taking over, Eight slipped down the fire escape. Keeping out of the light, he slowly opened the bin and grabbed the box, retreating back up to his previous position.

There was neat swirly writing all over the box stating _“Luigi’s Pizzeria”_ , with a striped flag. Eight had never got the grip with flags. Opening the box, he found the circular form of food still warm. It looked like some sort of flat bread, with melted cheese smothered all over it. There was a kind of sauce, and small pieces of… Sausage? Ham? It had been cut up, creating six neat triangles. When Eight picked one up, the area which had been nearest the middle drooped down a touch.

He took a bite.

And promptly fell in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A return of the Eight we saw way back in Chapter 2!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things happen

“Why hello, Donatello. Lost your mask?” A smooth feminine voice said, making Eight jump. He had been exploring more of the city and had found himself on the outskirts of a park. Training his expression, Eight turned. 

“You need glasses.”

The woman physically startled, eyes narrowing as she reached for the swords on her back. Eight had never seen her before, but the Foot symbols on her clothing were all he needed. However he had no weapons, and had been having a good night. He did not feel like ruining that.

“Look,” He said, sighing, “I don’t really fancy all this right now. You go your way, I’ll go-”

Nearly taking a sword to the face dissolved any hope of enjoying his night of freedom peacefully. Jumping backwards to give himself more room, Eight quickly scanned the rooftop for anything that would make a good weapon. There was nothing. He would have to get down into the alley. There were more shadows there too, more places to hide and get an advantage over his foe. 

Missing another swing of the deadly weapons, Eight lunged forward into her personal space, moving faster than she could control the swords and hitting the woman’s elbow. She growled, Eight springing away from her and towards the edge of the roof, making use of her moment of distraction. Spinning, the lady flung stars in his direction, and it was only the fact that he was a natural born acrobat that saved his skin being sliced by the flying discs, which ricocheted off the roof with a metallic clang. She charged again and Eight back flipped away, grinning at her and falling into the alleyway below. Quick footsteps followed, as well as a shrill cry.

“Foot ninja, attack!”

Eight, still in the process of falling, noted with sharp eyes the black shadows filling the alley. Making a snap decision, the grabbed onto a washing line, the sudden stop jerking his shoulders, and, using the momentum of the fall, swung himself up like a trapeze artist to crouch on the thin line. Masked white eyes stared up at him from the ground, and the woman stood triumphantly from her place on the roof.

“Turtle-”

“Hey Karai!”

The woman glanced over her shoulder and Eight struck. Using the washing line as a trampoline, he tackled her to the ground. The woman, ‘Karai’, made a noise not unlike a startled cat, spitting at him. She used both legs to kick him off and Eight bounced away nimbly to the other side of the roof. He smirked, and waggled his new toys. 

Karai got to her feet, staring like a pissed off rhino at her lost weapons. Her gaze went to the person standing next to Eight. Oh yeah, better acknowledge him.

“Raphael, was it?”

“The shell are _you_ doing here?”

Eight shrugged in response. “Hey, here I was minding my own business, and then I get some Foot lady on my tail.”

“Fascinating.” Raphael rolled his shoulders, sai in hand, “Good, I needed a fight.”

“She’s got Foot with her.”

“Don’t care.”

Raphael charged Karai, the woman meeting him half way. In each hand she had a throwing star, using them like knives to cut and slash at the older turtle. On the other side of the roof, Foot ninja began to appear, climbing up from the alley. Eight glanced back to the fight. Raphael appeared to be in full attack mode.

“So, am I meant to be doing anything? Or can I just go on my merry way?”

“I said,” Raphael growled, missing Karai with his sai by centimetres, “I don’t care.”

“Cool.” 

Tucking the swords into his belt, Eight left, jumping from rooftop to rooftop. 

……

Raphael was not having a good night. First it was the darts, and now he was being outnumbered by the Foot. There was no way in hell that he was calling his brothers. He had put them through enough in the last five hours, and he wouldn’t be able to stomach the look Leo would give him. 

He snarled at the woman in front of him, springing forward and swinging at her face. She dodged, going for a sweep at his legs. Jumping, Raph made to hit her head with the butt of his sai, but was blocked and received a kick to the jaw for his efforts. The pain flashed through his cheek and skull, leaving him momentarily disorientated. Karai took her chance. A punch to the chest sent him backwards, ending up on his backside, glaring up at the woman. That’s when he noticed the Foot troops on the roof.

“Surrender, turtle.” Karai smirked, her goons forming a circle around him, “Drop your weapons.”

Splinter was going to be so disappointed. 

Inside, he was seething, white fizzling rage streaming through his veins. Gritting his teeth, it took huge self-control not to fling himself forward into the woman. But he knew that would be useless, Raph would be tackled to the ground before he could even move an inch forward.

His sai fell with a clatter.

“Good-”

“Do I have to do everything?”

There was a squelch, the sound of liquid, _blood_ , spilling, and a Foot ninja fell to the ground with a shriek of pain. 

Raph stared, dumbstruck.

Eight was stood there, Karai’s swords in hand, casually flicking off the blood from the weapons.

“Come on then, let’s get this over with.” His expression was blank, his stance ready. He paid Raph no heed.

Raph just…Stared.

Ninja after ninja flew at Eight, aiming for his head, heart, legs, arms, everything. Some had knives, others throwing stars, some nunchucks, some with bō. Each fell, tumbling to the ground with a splatter and a scream. Eight was barely moving, flicking the swords in every which way, as calm as ever. He would be halfway through stabbing one ninja but already have his attention of two more. Lost arms, hands, and heads began to fill the rooftop, and for a moment Raph, shocked to the point of barely being able to move, glanced at Karai. She was stood there, eyes wide and mouth agape. Her hand was twitching at her side, as if she wanted to do something, yet didn’t.

“Foot…” She eventually called, her voice weaker than it had been previously, “Fall back, retreat.”

Those left alive did not need telling twice, and immediately Karai was trailing her diminished troops. They vanished across the rooftops, slinking back into the safety of the shadows.

Swallowing, Raph turned back to Eight. The turtle stared back. Shell, even his breathing was normal. Eight approached him. Blood was splattered across his body, his feet slapping in the dark puddles.

“I suppose I owed you for getting me out of the tank, so consider this your repayment.”

“Repayment…?” Suddenly that fiery rage was back. Raph flew to his feet, marching up and seizing up to the younger turtle, who blinked at him. “Repayment!” He gestured widely around him. “Does this look like repayment to you? Does this _fucking_ look like it?”

“Yes.”

“Do you even understand the implications of this? At all?” When had Raph began screaming? “You’ve killed people!”

“That was the idea.” Eight was giving him a strange look.

“Gah!” Raph had to step away for a moment, running a hand over his face. Spotting his sai, he grabbed them, sticking them back into his belt. He took a breath and turned back to Eight, who was using a Foot headband to clean the swords.

“Ok, look, ignoring the _blatantly_ obvious manslaughter you just committed, do you understand the implications of all this?”

“What, the fact there’s now less enemies to deal with?”

“The fact,” Raph stood close, sticking a finger into his chest, “That you have just signalled war to the Shredder. You think he’s going to take this lying down? You think he will brush this off? You’re now his number one threat, he’s going to be coming for you. Hunting you down. You won’t be able to go anywhere without looking over your shoulder.” 

Eight was beginning to look somewhat uneasy, Raph continued.

“And Bishop? He’ll know that this was all you. He trained you, he knows how you work. He’ll know it’s you. Think you’re going to be able to avoid him?”

“I-”

“Not to mention that the police will be swarming here soon. They’ll he on every rooftop for miles. They’ll be staking out the whole area. They’ll be checking CCTV.”

“I didn’t-” Eight was panicking now, looking at the stained rooftop with new eyes. His hands were shaking.

“And the best thing? The best fucking thing that you’ve done? You’ve ruined this for all of us! Think Karai will let us all go scot-free? Think Shredder will? Bishop will? We’re not going to be able to leave the lair for months, maybe even a year! All because,” Raph poked Eight once again, “You have no honour in battle. Bet Bishop never taught you all that, did he?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHAHAHAHAHAHA-Oh god you're all going to kill me.
> 
> Let me explain.
> 
> 1\. Eight is still Eight, and he has made it VERY clear over the last few chapters that he believes killing is still a good thing to do. That striking your enemy while down is a valid action. The Hamatoes have not got through to him yet, and therefore this is a thing he would do. He has made no attempt to hide this from them (and therefore you), so honestly? This isn't really a surprise. 
> 
> 2\. He was fine to leave Raph with Karai, why? Well, to put it simply, he doesn't respect the turtles or Splinter. Sure, he had his moment with Don, but Eight had found it uncomfortable in the end, and cut it short. I've actually been foreshadowing this a little, with Eight, ever since he has been staying with them, referring to Splinter as 'the rat'. No, honestly, go back. Since being in the tank he's never called Splinter by name.
> 
> 3\. Everyone who's commented 'yay, bonding!' or something similar since Eight was freed from the tank? I'm sorry, I've been sitting on this chapter literally thinking to myself "Oh sweethearts, no." 
> 
> 4\. Everyone who commented 'Raph and Eight bonding in the next chapter!' - I mean, kinda? 
> 
> 5\. Poor Karai, with everyone interrupting her. She tries.
> 
> So, yeah. Unlucky Chapter 13 anyone?


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath is...Not what you may expect

Raph let his words sink into the younger turtle, and shell he did look younger. For the first time he noticed how much shorter Eight was to him, the lack of muscle. Even his face, splattered with blood, still had the roundness of childhood.

“God,” Raph found himself muttering, stepping away towards the edge of the roof, “You’re just a kid.”

“I…” Eight seemed to want to challenge him on that, but didn’t. Instead he slotted the swords into his belt, swallowing and staring at the carnage around them. His breathing was faster than before.

“You need to get rid of those.” Raph said, watching him. He would feel something inside cracking, splitting open, and a whole wave of uneasiness fell upon him. His mouth was moving before his head could catch up.

“Why?” Eight asked, voice softer than Raph had ever heard it.

“They’re the murder weapons. C’mon,” Raph waved Eight over, “We’ll dump them into the river.”

Eight said nothing to this, and Raph turned and left, not needing to glance back to know he was being followed. Eight kept to his pace, though because he was following stayed behind him. They met no other Foot.

That…Was hardly surprising.

Raph refused to look at the turtle who had been made of his own blood. He refused to see the slightly too-wide expression of his eyes, or hear the small hitching of his breath as he struggled to control whatever the hell he was going through right now.

And Raph refused to let his own emotions flare up again, because that was not what they needed. He had to get them away, hide the evidence. He had to get them out of there. For the first time in weeks, and odd sense of calm came over him.

Heh, Splinter would be proud.

Leo would probably scoff at him and mutter, “Finally.”

Raph took them through the numerous back alleys and small passages he knew, avoiding crowded areas and CCTV. By the time they reached the river, the sun was beginning to rise, casting a soft glow across the winter fog rising from the water.

“Throw them as far as you can. Hopefully they’ll get buried in the mud.”

Eight did as he was told, making no comment as they flew far from the bank, making a splash as they vanished from sight. He turned back to Raph with questioning eyes.

“You might want to…You know…” He indicated the blood, “Wash that off?”

“Oh. Right, yes.”

Eight knelt, scrubbing the cold water over his skin. He awkwardly reached behind himself, trying to clean his shell. After a moment of watching him struggle, Raph huffed and grabbed Eight, squatting down and scooping water up in his hand and pouring it over the stains. Eight remained silent. They stayed like that for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. 

Then Raph’s phone went off, and he stood and answered, shaking his hands to dry them.

“Raph!” Leo’s sharp cry made him jump, “What the shell happened?”

“They’ve found the bodies then…” In the background Raph could hear Don saying something to Splinter.

“They’ve found the…Raph what happened? Where are you? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Raph reassured, watching Eight stand and wrap his arms around himself, shivering. “It wasn’t me if that’s what you are thinking.”

“I would hope not!” Leo seemed to calm anyway. “You still haven’t told me what happened.”

“I stumbled across Eight,” Said turtle flinched and stared out across the river, “He was being attacked by Karai and her lot. Long story short they didn’t win.”

“Eight did…” Leo went quiet, before giving a long-suffering sigh, “You do realise what that means for us, don’t you?”

“I’ve already explained all that to him.” There was still blood on Eight’s arm, Raph noticed, dribbling down. He frowned. “I think he’s beginning to understand.”

“Good…Good…” There were voices in the background, and Leo said something back. Now apparently on hold, Raph bent to look at Eight’s arm, starting the turtle. There was a lone cut across his upper arm, probably a slash from a knife or something. Might need stitches.

“Raph?” Leo was back.

“Yep still here.”

“Don and Splinter think we should go to Casey’s cabin for a while.” More noise in the background. Raph could not help his groan. “Yeah, I know.” Leo sympathised. “None of us really want to leave, but things are hardly going to be peaceful around here.”

“I… Yeah, yeah. I get it.”

“How long will it take for you to get home?”

“Um, maybe half an hour?”

“It might be quicker if we just pick you up.”

“Yeah, probably.”

“Anything you want us to pack? Other than the usual stuff.” 

Raph thought for a moment, mentally going through all his things.

“My headphones are on my bedside table. I think my snow boots are under my bed? We’re probably going to have to do some shovelling while we’re there. Can’t think of anything else.”

“Ok, I’ll get them. We’ll meet you in about twenty.”

“Oh, and Leo? Tell Don to bring the med kit, Eight needs stitches, I think.”

“Right, will do.” They hung up. Raph sighed.

“So,” He said, turning to Eight, “Here’s the plan. The others think it best we go to Casey’s cabin for a while, lay low until things settle here.”

“Where’s the cabin?” Eight asked quietly.

“Out in the country, in the woods.”

“Oh.”

“They’ll come by in twenty minutes.”

“Ok…Raphael?”

“Yeah?”

“What should I do?” Raph frowned, crossing his arms.

“What do you mean ‘what should I do’?”

“Well, do you want me to go back to the lair? Or-”

“Oh, _oh_ , no you’re coming with us.” Eight stared at him in surprise. Raph shrugged. “You’d probably die in the next twenty-four hours if we didn’t.”

“O-Oh, ok.”

They didn’t talk after that.

……

It was a wakeup call Don was not expecting. Sure, he knew Eight killed people, he had said so himself and made no attempt to hide it. But still, seeing the images flashing across on the news shook him to the core. He had forgotten, maybe too easily, that Eight was trained by Bishop.

Said turtle was sat across from him, his eyes set firmly on the floor. Don had cleaned and stitched the knife wound, and hopefully it will heal without any problems. 

The heating was on full blast, but they were all covered in blankets. There was only so much the small thing could do, after all. Donnie had been planning on making it bigger, but it seems he won’t be doing that for a while. Eight had a blanket across his lap, and was fiddling with a stray string on its corner, his mouth a thin line.

Eight had slaughtered people, just a few hours ago. 

Don didn’t know how he felt about that.

Splinter had seemed disappointed, when he first heard about this whole mess. He had sighed sadly, had commented that he had hoped to connect with Eight before such a thing happened, and then suggested they head to the cabin.   
Leo was not really saying much of anything on the subject, probably just following Splinter’s lead and trusting their father to deal with this in his own time, which Splinter certainly would. They had a strong moral code, after all, and if Eight was to stay with them then he had to abide by it. 

As for Raph, he was quieter than Don was expecting. Splinter, Leo and himself had all predicted shouting and yelling when they picked them up, Raph saying the usual “I told you so” before going into a long-winded rant on the whole matter. How he had never wanted them to take Eight out of the tank, how he had said it would lead to trouble, and all the rest of it. Instead he was sat in the front by Leo, deep in thought. Briefly Don wondered how Raph was doing after seeing all…That. He would have to ask him later, when things had cooled somewhat.

Looking at Eight again, Don found him the same as before, eyes distant and mind deep within itself. He had not said anything since being picked up, which might be a good thing. If he tried to explain himself there was a good chance someone might blow up at him, and Don did not fancy sitting in the back of the van for hours while people argued.

Did Eight even realise he was in the wrong? Was he sorry that they were all having to up sticks and move for possibly months because of him? Did he even think through his actions before he slaughtered everyone? Was he really that trigger happy?

Sighing, Don closed his eyes, willing sleep to pass the time.

He tried to bury the seed of anger that was forming in his chest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope Raph didn’t seem to go from angry to calm too quickly, but I think he finally saw Eight for what he actually was. Sort of like Raph in the episode ‘Lone Raph and Cub’ (2003), he saw himself in another person, and that forced him to calm the hell down. Meanwhile Donnie is trying to come to terms with the whole mess.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A discussion takes place, and Eight sits in the cold.

Apparently, they had arrived.

Eight had barely noticed until someone, Donatello, had walked across in front of him and opened the back doors of the van. He blinked as cold air swept in, gaze turning to the snowy landscape. The rat stood, leaning on his cane, and followed Donatello, though he paused before leaving.

“Please, come with us.”

Eight just nodded and climbed to his feet. Outside, there were trees as far as the eye could see, only being halted by the twisting country lane that they had been travelling down. Apart from a wooden cabin and a barn, there were no other buildings for miles. The only sign of outside life were the electricity pylons off in the distance. 

“It’s so empty…” He muttered to himself, though the rat picked up his words, “There’s no life anywhere…”

“No life?” The rat acknowledged him, “This area is filled with life, if you look for it.” They looked at each other for a moment, before Leonardo called to the rat, and they both moved inside. 

Raphael was in the process of lighting the fireplace while Leonardo was busying around in the kitchen. The rat headed upstairs, leaving Eight standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“Here,” Donatello appeared beside him, dumping a large cardboard box in his arms, “Take these to Leo.” He did not reply verbally but nodded his head a little, moving to the kitchen.

“Ah, good.” Leonardo indicated him to put the box down in the dinner table, “Help me unload these, will you?”

The box was filled with cans of food, from fruit to beans to hotdogs. 

“This is our emergency stock,” Leonardo begins to explain, not that Eight is really listening. “We always keep some in case we have to get out of town quickly. April and Casey are coming up next week, so they’ll be bringing fresher stuff then.” Leonardo appears to be rambling now. “You haven’t met April and Casey yet, have you? They’re nice. Casey’s a bit of a meathead at times, but he means no harm. April’s nice, though she was quite shocked at…” He trails off, hand still on the can he’s placed in the cupboard. 

Eight waits, seeing how Leonardo will play this off. Apart from Raphael earlier that morning, no one has confronted him yet. Eight knows it will happen soon, probably started by the rat.

“Eight…Why?”

Or apparently not.

Eight keeps his back to him and continued putting cans away.

He can feel the gaze on his back, judging him, scolding him, pitying him, mocking him. He waits to see if Leonardo will comment further, but he does not, and they go back to putting food away in silence.

…..

Splinter was troubled. Around him, his family was changing, becoming tense, confused, and lost into the depths of one’s own mind. And, of course, he knew the source.

His chest ached as he thought over the actions of Eight. The turtle, barely out of childhood, was at the centre of it all. He had committed a terrible act which he did not fully comprehend (or maybe he did, which scared Splinter to his core), and as a result his family was paying the price. His sons were struggling with the new development, Donatello especially. He had seen the same thing Splinter had within Eight, the boy looking for guidance in his new bewildering world away from Bishop, yet was too scared and perhaps proud to let others in. Too hurt. Splinter knew of the late night training session the two had shared, feeling immense pride in his observant son in trying to bring Eight under his wing and lead him in this troubling time. 

But Eight actions had brought home to Donatello what a threat Eight really was, what he had been trained to be, what Bishop had moulded the insecure turtle into. Donatello could no longer look at him as an innocent little brother, even though Eight had made no attempt to hide what he had done in his life, and now had to see the stark reality. It had unnerved his son, and Splinter worried that fear would churn into hate. Hatred was not an emotion Donatello was used to, and as with any new thing, it can grow out of hand and escalate into much bigger proportions. He will need to have a discussion with his son, and help him work through these emotions.

Since the…Incident, Eight had gone back into the state he had fallen into when he had first woken on the dojo floor after being rescued. Numb, blocking off emotions, denying his mind the time to go over the previous events and process them healthily. This was certainly the result of Bishop’s teachings, and once again Splinter’s chest ached. What had the man done to the poor child to make him this way? What horrible methods had been used? Sadly, he doubted that Eight had been allowed a childhood.

Somehow, Splinter was going to have to fix this.

After dinner, which Eight did not attend, he sought the youngest turtle out.

…..

Eight sat on the roof amongst the snow. His skin had long ago gone numb, chilled deeply by the cold. It was the kind of quiet night where everything seemed to be waiting for something to happen. Nothing breathed. Nothing moved. The calm before the storm. 

Eight did not know what this storm would be, but he had suspicions. 

It might involve him being kicked out. It might be him banished to the barn. It could be him being shouted and screamed at until they were all as blue as some of the aliens Bishop kept.

Heh, Bishop.

What would he be thinking of all this? Probably praising him, in all honesty, for a good kill. Maybe Bishop would be critiquing him on his technique and execution. Likely scolding him for letting some get away and warn others. Lost the element of surprise there, stupid.

If he had done well though, then why was Eight feeling so…Dirty? It was like there was some kind of grubbiness on his skin, sinking in and making him filthy on the inside. Why? He had never felt this before about killing anyone. The Foot soldiers who had attacked him back at Base, prisoners Bishop had captured and allowed him to practice on.

Eight shivered.

Why, why was this different?

Why was he feeling so gross with himself? 

Something fell over his shoulders, and Eight physically startled. The rat sat down beside him, elderly eyes taking in the beautiful scene around them. Swallowing, Eight pulled the blanket around himself. Wow, he was really losing his touch. He really didn’t notice an old rat climbing onto the roof juggling a cane and a blanket?

“A lovely night, do you not agree?” The rat said, breathing in the clean crisp air. Eight shrugged, and the rat took this as a sign to continue. “You were not present at dinner. I instructed Donatello to keep yours warm, so please go down and eat when you are ready; you have not eaten since midday yesterday.”

“I ate something while I was out.” Eight corrected quietly.

“Ah, that is good. We do not allow people to go hungry in our household.” Was the reply, and Eight got the distinct feeling that the rat was waiting for him to start the conversation, probably leading to a great outpour of emotions. He decided not to play that game, and instead kept them in silence. He would rather skip that bit and get onto the shouting. He rat sighed.

“I am not pleased with what you have done.”

Here we go.

“You have forced my family to leave our home, have confused and hurt my sons, and betrayed the morals that we hold dear.” He glanced at him, “Yet, I do believe that you already know all of this.”

“Raphael told me.” Eight muttered, bringing his legs up and refusing to look the rats way.

“I was referring to yourself.” The rat corrected, “Letting others down, is not something you take well. When you awoke in my dojo, you told me that you had not given our location away. When Donatello trained you, you became concerned that you would not meet his expectations. And now, since your conversation with Raphael, you have drawn into yourself, unable to shake this off as simply another kill.”

“What, you have a degree in psychiatry or something?”

“No, however, after raising three…Complex children, you do pick up upon these things. You share a similar trait to Leonardo. Once my sons were old enough to leave the lair unattended, I appointed him the leader of the three. I trusted upon him their safety. It is something that he fears he often fails to do, and because of this can at times be overprotective of his brothers.”

“Better to be overprotective than dead.”

“Exactly.” The rat made to rest a hand on his shoulder. Eight lent away. Disappointment flashed over the furred features. “You have been trained under Bishop, and while I do not know how he did so, I do believe that there must have been immense pressure for you to succeed. From what Donatello has told me, you are the only successful attempt from an inhumane experiment. If you do not work, then this experiment will be a failure. And we both know how Bishop feels about failure.”

Eight could not help but flinch.

“Therefore, you must succeed at everything you do. Every challenge, every battle, you must come out on top. And for you, and Bishop, that means everyone else must be dead.”

“Is this the moment where I burst into tears? Where I cry about how terrible my childhood was? About every innocent person that I killed?”

“You can, if you like. If it helps.” The rat sat up straighter, and his voice became sterner. “The reason I discuss this with you Eight is to show that I understand that this is hard. You have been snatched from all you have ever known, and have been told that what you were taught is wrong. I do not expect change overnight. However,” The rat fixed him with frowned eyes, “If you ever do something like this while under our care again, then I shall have to take action. As much as I wish to help you, I cannot sacrifice my sons in the process. I say again, that you have forced us from our home, and have pushed my sons emotionally. If this happens again, then there will be consequences.”

The rat stood, and placed a hand on his shoulder. Eight didn’t move away.

“Please, remember to come down and eat soon.”

Then Eight was left alone on the rooftop once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone get my boy a pair of slippers, he's freezing his butt of out there!


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's snow

Bishop did not like losing his possessions. Especially those he spent years moulding to his will.

He had, of course, seen what had happened on the rooftop. All of New York had by now. But what Bishop also saw, and what New York did not, were the two turtles down by the river, disposing of the evidence and cleaning off the blood.

The other thing he knew was that once his satellites had locked onto the van, it could be followed, no matter how remote they went.

He almost wanted to laugh.

After years of trying and failing to find the turtles, his lone little experiment had led him right to them. Maybe he should be proud, but Eight had crossed him. Bishop could not let that go unpunished.

……

Eight did not leave the roof until the others had retired to bed, and even then he didn’t go back inside, instead heading into the barn where he settled down amongst the straw with the blanket he had been given. Eight rose before they did the following morning, finding his dinner still on the counter under a lid. It was eaten cold, washed up, and put it away before anyone came down.

He sat on the outside bench as the others had breakfast. The sun was rising, making the snow glitter like crystals. There was no wind meaning the trees were still. In fact, the only noise came from the cabin and the sounds of brothers bickering, plates clanking and a kettle boiling. It was all very different to the mornings in the base. There, Eight often woke before anyone else, and went on a run while the corridors where quiet, which also meant he got the showers to himself after. He would arrive early to the canteen too, getting his pick of the food (most of the time he had porridge) and tucking himself away into a quiet corner. If he was lucky then Bishop would be there early as well, and they would share a meal together and go over the plans of the day. 

In a strange sort of way, Eight missed those mornings. Sure, he was up so early to avoid all the thugs and soldiers and their less than sunny attitude, but there was something about that time of day. That quietness, the calm before people wake, where everything is at peace with itself. It felt so long since Eight had that, a calming early morning talk about the day ahead, the gentle atmosphere. At the moment it felt like everywhere he went things just got ruined, stained, contaminated. It was like leaving bloody footprints in the snow, only instead of staying behind him, they raced ahead beyond his feet, tarnishing all future events.

Maybe…Maybe it was time to let it go.

Eight jumped when the door opened and a bundle of clothing and shoes were dumped on his lap.

“My sons have decided to embark on a morning training exercise.” The elderly rat said, stroking his beard. “I believe it wise for you to join them.”

“I-”

“When two dogs do not get along, it is wise to walk them at the same time, to allow them to share a pleasant experience. According to _The Dog Whisperer_ anyway. I believe people are the same. Working within a team pulls us together, helps us understand one another, and creates a sense of purpose.”

“There’s a difference between working as a team and just doing as you are told.”

“That may be so.” The rat, no, _Splinter_ turned to him, and Eight couldn’t bring himself to look away from those deep brown eyes. “But is it not worth a try?”

“Trying and succeeding are also different.”

“Indeed, but if one has the knowledge that they tried their best, it means failure is not as bitter a blow.”

“Heh…” Eight began tying the shoelaces. “Growing up, if I tried and failed then I was punished.”

A soft hand was placed on his shoulder.

“You shall not be punished here, I promise.”

At this point Donatello appeared, dressed in full snow gear. He glanced at Eight before addressing Splinter.

“We’re not going to go too far, just up to the lake. We should be back in around two hours.”

“Very good, Donatello. I shall see you later, be careful.”

“Hai Sensei.”

Splinter looked at Eight expectantly. 

“Oh…Yeah, ok.”

Splinter smiled warmly and retreated back inside.

Although the sun was out, it was still bitterly cold and their breath danced around in front of them. There apparently had been no snow shoes, meaning they were had to slowly push their way through the snow which rose to their knees. Eight had naturally fallen into place at the back of the line, more out of habit than anything else, and was able to walk in the footsteps of the others. 

Leonardo wasn’t so lucky.

“Come on, Leo, hurry it up!”

“It’s not that easy Raph!”

“It’s only powder!”

“It’s not ‘only powder’, its thick snow which-”

“Come on, don’t turn Don on me!”

“I’m not!”

Donatello suddenly stepped out of line and stared at Eight expectantly while Leonardo and Raphael continued on oblivious. Eight stared back, wondering if this was where Donatello decked him and he was left out cold in the snow. No, he was already cold, so he couldn’t be out cold…Could he?

What?

Donatello crossed his arms.

“I refuse to be the one next to those idiots while they bicker.” He said shortly. “As you’re not in my good books at the moment, you can go in front.”

Eight glanced between Donatello, the still arguing turtles, and back. He was tempted to just shrug it off and get on with it, but Splinter had wanted him to try and…Well, if he was serious about trying to let go, to stop those bloody footprints from going any further, then he had to at least attempt to put things right. Eight hoped Splinter held true to his promise.

“You know…These coats have cotton in them. If we made a tear we could pull some out and stick it in our ears.”

Donatello blinked and then snorted; pushing Eight passed him so they could keep moving.

“Trust me, no amount of cotton will drown them out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you! Happy birthday Friendly Fire, happy birthday to you!~
> 
> Friendly Fire turns one year old today! At 6:49pm on the 30th November to be precise. This is officially the longest I have ever spent on one single story. As of today the total word count, including chapters yet to be published, is at 28,168. 
> 
> Fun fact: On my word document, this is named 'Bishop and Mikey 3', as it was my third attempt at writing this story. The other two drafts include young Mikey wandering off while Splinter was out looking for food and being picked up by Bishop, and Bishop and Shredder planning on using Eight to capture the turtles.


	17. Chapter 17

Normally when Eight was unable to sleep, he would go and train. Much like those early mornings, training late at night meant he had some peace and quiet, and was able to shower and crawl back to bed without fuss or comment. Here, however, not so much. Eight didn’t fancy training outside in the cold, and with the amount of noise the floorboards of the cabin make he was sure to wake someone by training inside. Also, there was no shower. A bath was all well and good, but it wasn’t quick and the pipes liked to voice their protests at being used.

So instead he made his way downstairs and browsed the bookshelf.

Eight had never been a big reader. Unless instruction manuals were your thing, then there was next to nothing worth your time and energy at the base. He had been taught to read by Bishop, whom, used labels on tanks and scientists notes to teach him the difference between b and d. The first thing he could clearly remember reading was a clipboard of notes describing his creation. He hadn’t understood most of it, but Bishop had been pleased that he could read it out loud.

There were a few manuals here too, instructions for building a table and something to do with a water pump. But here were other books with strange sounding titles. _The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy_ made little sense. Eight had a vague understanding what a galaxy was, but what was a hitchhiker? The book said it was a guide, was it a manual? Eight picked it up and opened the first page.

_‘Far out in the uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the western spiral arm of the Galaxy lies a small unregarded yellow sun. Orbiting this at a distance of roughly ninety-two million miles is an utterly insignificant little blue green planet whose ape-descended life forms are so amazingly primitive that they still think digital watches are a pretty neat idea.’_

What?

What on earth was this? Flicking over the page, Eight’s confusion grew as a man was introduced, lying in the mud to stop his house being destroyed. What…What?

He put it back on the shelf.

Turning his attention to other books, all with odd titles that said nothing on what the book was actually about, he eventually settled for something called _‘A Christmas Carol’_. Grabbing the spare blanket on the settee, Eight clicked on the table lamp and plonked down into a chair, opening the first page. Maybe he’ll get more sense out of this one.

……

The following day, as late afternoon drifted into early evening, Splinter sought Eight out in the living area where he was tidying (though as Eight didn’t know what the room was supposed to look like, tidying was more ‘putting things where I think they live’) and requested his help with making dinner. His sons were busy, with Leonardo outside chopping wood, Raphael clearing the roof of snow, and Donatello tinkering with the pipes, but he required another set of hands. Eight agreed, expecting to be tasked with setting the table or washing dishes. Instead, he found Splinter wanted him to help _cook._

“Please can you keep an eye on this?” The old rat pointed at the stew-type dish bubbling away in the pot, “I need to sort the tinned vegetables.”

“I…What am I keeping an eye out for?”

Splinter began tackling one of the cans with the can opener.

“Please ensure it doesn’t boil over. There’s a wooden spoon nearby so you can stir it.”

“Do I need to stir it often?”

Splinter glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, moving onto the second can.

“Every few minutes.”

“Oh, ok.”

After a quiet moment had passed, the sound of bubbling caught Splinter’s attention as he washed the vegetables.

“Eight, please turn the heat down.”

“Oh! Right, sorry.” Eight stared at the different nobs, a hand hovering over one uncertainly. 

“It’s the furthest on the right, Eight.”

“Ah, right, ok.” After accidentally moving it the wrong way, he finally managed to lower the heat. “How’s that?”

“Very good.” Splinter searched through the cupboards for the chopping board. “Did you do much cooking before?” He asked casually. Eight shrugged, picking up the spoon and stirring the food.

“I think once, when I was a kid, but I don’t think I was actually meant to.”

“You weren’t meant to be cooking?” Splinter began slicing the vegetables into small pieces.

“I had snuck out and wandered to the kitchens. I attempted to make an omelette.”

“Attempted.” Splinter said, scraping the chopped vegetables into the stew. 

“Yeah. I was banned for life.”

Splinter chuckled.

“Unlike Leonardo, you are not banned from cooking here.”

“Yet.”

……

Raphael and Donatello stood at the bottom of the stairs, both peering around the corner. It was early morning, and both had been awoken by a thump on the ground floor. Unlike Leo and Splinter’s room, theirs was directly above the living area, meaning they could hear most things that happened there.

“He doesn’t look like a killer, does he?” Don breathed, tilting his head to one side in thought.

“No…”

Donatello glanced at Raph.

“On that rooftop, how did he act?”

“Before or after?”

“Both?”

Raph sighed, running a hand over his face.

“If I said loose, would you get what I mean?” Don shook his head. “Like…Carefree? He was making jokes, being sarcastic, that kind of thing. Like he had this big pressure lifted. And then when he attacked, he hardly broke a sweat. He was so quick.” Raph’s gaze drifted back to Eight, who was asleep in a chair, blanket wrapped around him, a book, the source of the noise, dropped on the floor. “He said it was our repayment, attacking Karai and the foot.”

“Repayment?”

“We got him out of the tank, so he stopped Karai from beating my shell. When I blew up at him, and when he realised the implications he was…A child. Lost. You know?”

Donatello thought back to that night when he had found Eight copying the moves he had seen Leo use, and their training session. He remembered how all the tension seemed to drain away for a little while, how those closed-off eyes turned baby blue, like a puppy soaking in attention, desperate to please. 

“I do.”

Donatello entered to room, picking up the book from the floor. His eyebrow rose at the title, and he showed it to Raph. His brother shrugged, and wandered to the kitchen. Placing the book on the table, Don’s eyes trailed over Eight.

Usually when a dog turns vicious it gets put down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Donnie boy...
> 
> Also heads up, we have no entered 'I have yet to write the next chapter' territory, meaning chapters are going to have gaps between uploading. If nothing happens for several weeks, don't worry, I am working on it, it's just taking time.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone goes for a vehicle ride

Eight had been chopping wood when the reflection in the axe gave Bishop’s soldiers away. If it hadn’t been for that one guy dressed in snow camouflage beneath the bush poking his head up when Eight had his back turned, Eight would have had no idea he was there.

He didn’t allow for his body to tense up, instead casually putting the logs onto the pile and picking up the next to be chopped. There was no point swinging around to attack that guy, because knowing Bishop they were completely surrounded right now. He paused and huffed, making it look like he was wiping his brow as his eyes darted around, and then continued.

One in the tree by the barn. One by the edge of the road. He could see the very end of a gun poking up over a large pile of snow that had been removed from the roof yesterday, so at least another soldier there.

Where was everyone?

Raphael and Leonardo had left this morning to go investigate the road. The humans April and Casey were due to be joining them in two days, and they wanted to see if the road needed clearing before their arrival. Since then a light snow had covered their tracks, so if they were lucky then Bishop’s goons would have missed them. If they were unlucky…There may have to be a rescue mission. 

Master Splinter had been meditating in the bedroom for the pass half hour. Eight hadn’t heard a thing from up there since the elderly rat had climbed the stairs, so he was probably still there. Maybe he had picked up on the soldiers. Eight hoped so.

That just left Donatello, who was…

Eight left the axe stuck in the log and rolled his shoulder, quickly trying to sense Donatello. The turtle had been working on the pipes and pluming the last few days, making sure everything was functioning normally. It was likely he was doing the same thing today, or at least some variation of maintenance. If he was doing this, where was he likely to be?

Something metal clanged within the barn.

_“Shell!”_

The soldier by the barn changed target, army crawling towards the door, gun ready.

Welp, apparently it was now or never.

Snatching the axe from the log, Eight threw it straight at the soldier, the weapon smacking into the wooden door of the barn inches from the guy’s nose. Instantly Eight dropped and rolled, bullets from the other men whizzing overhead, following him as he charged the solder at the barn. The guy, quickly recovering from the initial shock of having a large axe flung at his head, whipped the gun around, aiming at Eight’s chest. The bullet fired never hit as Eight sprung high into the air, coming down directly on top of the man.

Both struggled, battling for the better position as bullets continued to target Eight.

“Give up! You’re surrounded!” Someone yelled. 

“Yes.” The guy below Eight sneered. “Give up, little frog.”

There was a horrific smacking sound, and the man fell limp. Eight glanced up as Donatello put away his bō. 

“We’re turtles, not frogs.”

“Ha!” Eight climbed to his feet, falling into a fighting stance next to Donatello as men began to approach. “You think the shells would be a clue!”

“Seeing as their IQ is equivalent to that of a green fly, we shouldn’t be all that surprised.”

“I feel sorry for them, really.”

“It almost seems cruel.”

The goons advanced closer, and beside him Donatello shifted, and Eight realised that this was going to be awkward. Not only were they both dressed in coats which restricted movement to a near unbearable level, but neither knew how the other fought. They had never seen the other in action, minus their training session and a spar Donatello and Leonardo had once done when Eight had been curled up in the corner of the dojo. But he hadn’t paid proper attention then. At least, not enough to help him now.

“Eight…” Donatello said softly, holding out his bō, “Please don’t kill anyone this time, ok?” Eight swallowed.

“I-”

A gun went off, and the turtles instantly rolled away from each other. Eight moved into close quarters, the best defence against an enemy with a long range weapon. 

_“Get into their personal space.”_ Bishop’s voice floated through his head, and Eight had to physically blink away the images of six-year-old him, standing in the training room with a gun pointing at his face. _“Make them panic. Make it hard for anyone to aim.”_

Elbowing the guy in the ribs, he grabbed the gun and swung the man around, making him fly into a tree. Not pausing to watch him slump, Eight dove forward at one charging Donatello, using the gun to smack the goon’s chin. Blood spurted from his mouth and he staggered, allowing Eight time to spin kick his legs from under him.

“Donatello! Eight!” Splinter’s voice called to them. “This way!”

Dodging another round of firing, the turtles leapt towards the truck, where Splinter stood with the doors open. Donatello dove for the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut in time for a round of bullets to pound into the thick metal. He revved the engine and the vehicle lurched forward, Splinter and Eight clambering into the back just before the wheels spun and they skidded away down the road. Bullets echoed after them. As Eight slammed the door closed he realised he had dropped the gun. 

Damn.

“Is it Bishop?” Splinter asked, holding onto whatever he could as he and Eight bounced around violently in the back. 

“Yeah, or at least those are his men.”

“How did they find us?” Donatello voiced from the front, his grip tight on the wheel as he navigated the snow piled road. “They’ve never found us before.”

“I do not know, my son.” Splinter sighed, “However, we must find Leonardo and Raphael. We must hope-”

Everyone jumped as bullets thundered into the back of the truck. Splinter and Eight immediately darted as far to the side as they could, desperate to avoid being hit. Large dents sprung up through the thick metal. It would not take much for the bullets to begin making holes. Donatello began weaving.

“They have quad bikes!” He cried, struggling to control the heavy van clearly not meant for a high speed chase in the snow. “Sensei have you tried ring- Woah!” The brakes were applied but the truck didn’t stop and instead skidded violently to one side. The driver’s door opened.

“Move over lamebrain, let the professional drive!”

Donatello dove over the seat and into the back, allowing Leonardo to slide up and into the passenger seat, and then Raph to take the wheel.

“Sensei.” Leonardo’s voice was tight. “What’s happening?”

Bullets rang loudly as they pounded the side of the van, and Raph rapidly put the vehicle into gear and sprung them forward.

“Bishop has discovered our location.” Splinter explained quickly. “They attacked the cabin and we were forced to flee.”

“Shell.” Raphael growled. “All our gear was back there.”

“Fear not.” Splinter reached under the seats, pulling out a bag. “They attacked Donatello and Eight outside, allowing me time to grab the essentials.” He passed Leonardo and Raphael their weapons.

“April?” Donatello suddenly asked, making Eight jump. He hadn’t noticed him take out his phone. “April, can you- No, we’re not. Bishop found the cabin, we- yeah, we’re being chased. Is-”

The van suddenly lurched far to the right, and everyone in the back stumbled.

“Raph!” Leonardo shouted. 

“They’re blocking the road!” Raphael shouted back just as loud, “Hang on, we’re going this way!”

“April? Is Casey with you?” Donatello asked loudly, now on his knees. “Does he know of anywhere we can go?  
Somewhere we can lose them?”

From his position by the door, Eight noted the sounds of a second engine.

“Raph we can’t go that way! The road is on a cliff edge!” Leonardo exclaimed, “It’s too dangerous!”

“It’s the only way we can go!”

“He’s gonna need to be more specific than ‘by all the trees’ Ape!”

The van screeched around a corner. The second engine was getting closer.

“Raph, you’re going to kill us!”

“Trust me, Leo!”

“My sons, please focus on the task at hand.”

“Casey, that’s too far away, we need something closer!”

The back door was flung open, revealing a buggy with two men right outside, keeping perfect pace with the van. The one not driving was standing on the front of the quad bike and had his hand on the door, grinning. Behind them, several more bikes followed.

“Shit.” Eight muttered.

The guy jumped, using his grip on the door to pull himself into the van. He swung his gun, finger on the trigger, aiming straight at Raphael’s head.

“No!” Splinter cried, leaping forward to smack the gun downwards. The gun fired, the bullet ricocheting off the floor and around the van. Seizing his moment, Eight grabbed the goon by the shoulder, dragging him backwards to the door. The gun went off again, and Donatello was forced to dart closer to the door to avoid being hit. The goon struggled, swinging his gun at Splinter to keep the rat away before smacking it into Eight’s face.

The van swerved around a corner, and Eight and the goon were flung out the vehicle.

He never hit the ground.

Instead, a hand grabbed onto his arm, snapping him backwards as he dangled from the back of the van. Glancing up, he found Donatello gripping onto him for dear life, the phone forgotten. Behind him Splinter held onto his son. 

And on his foot was the goon, gun still in hand. 

Eight struggled, kicking at the guy’s face, trying to drag him along the ground in an attempt to dislodge him. Something must have happened to the quad he had been on, as it was no longer behind them, but others were and now everyone in the van was exposed. Gun fire rang out.

“Ah!”

“Master Splinter!”

Donatello lurched and staggered, and Eight could feel his grip struggling. He needed to do something. He needed to take the load off Donatello’s arm, and get a better vantage point of this guy.

The van door swung beside him.

That’ll do.

Using as much power as he could, Eight brought his legs over to the side, letting go of Donatello to grab onto the door.

“Eight! What-”

“Let go!”

“But-”

“Let go!”

Donatello let go, allowing Eight to clamber onto the door. The goon caught onto his idea, and grabbed the door himself. 

Bishop had liked battle simulations, and Stockman had found great glee in creating them. He could do this. 

The van rounded another corner, and Eight found himself overhanging the cliff’s edge. Bullets smacked and twanged around him.

Hehe, yep, can totally do this.

The goon had begun climbing, the gun over his shoulder. Eight kicked, slamming his foot into the man’s head. The guy cried out, growling at him before reaching into his coat and pulling out throwing stars. At such close quarters there was no way Eight was going to be able to dodge, which meant one thing. 

It was a damn good thing he was a natural acrobat.

Using all that he could, Eight pulled himself upwards so he was practically doing a handstand on top of the moving back door of the speeding truck, the stars sailing passed his head within centimetres. 

“Eight!” Donatello screamed.

Eight was on the right side of the van, which, unfortunately, was about to scrape against the cliff side as they swerved around a road blockage. 

“Raph!”

Eight allowed his body to drop back down, bringing his legs down hard into the guy’s chest and, _finally_ , causing the guy to let go, his body bouncing hard on the road behind them. 

“Look out!”

“Donatello!”

The van almost seemed to shudder as bullets hit them in the side. The door shook violently, and Eight felt his grip slip.

Two hands were around his wrist again.

“Raph, look out!”

“Shit!”

A large, armoured vehicle slammed into the van from a side road, pounding the van and causing it to screech and give a very sudden, incredibly brutal lurch. The momentum from their crazy driving swung the back of the van over the cliff edge, and Donatello and Eight were flung out the back as if they were nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays...
> 
>  
> 
> I hate writing action scenes. So what do I do? Have a whole chapter as an action scene. Ugh.


End file.
